Illlllllll 

B    3    3E7    HE 


Ml 


ra<t}r*V  '  nwTaH4V>v(«naiH<'  ^  i    ^K* 


W^v 


"JillS 


>       ■■  -      • 

S^^e^i&RiiaKiiirg^ 


.S'O 


^'hush!  there  is  nc  DouDr  or  that  topic;  the  child  is  dead. 

LET  THAT   BE   UNDERSTOOD    BETWEEN   US."  /.  J20 


]MHUoiiaircBab)> 

By  ANNA   KATHARINE  GREEN 


Author  of  "  THE  FILIGREE  BALL," 

"THE  LEAVENWORTH  CASE," 

Etc. 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY,   ^  fi    ft    ^ 
<♦  ,*  ^    PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


Copyright  1 905 
The  Bobbs- Merrill  Company 

January 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 


912860 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I  Two  Little  Shoes 

II  "A  Fearsome  Man" 

III  A  Charming  Woman 

IV  Chalk-Marks 

V  The  Old  House  in  Yonkers 

VI  Doctor  Pool 

VII  "Find  the  Child  1" 

VIII  "Philo!  Philo!  Philo!" 

IX  The  Bungalow 

X  Temptation 

XI  The  Secret  of  the  Old  Pavilion 

XII  Behind  the  Wall 

XIII  "  We  Shall  Have  to  Begin  Again  " 

XIV  Espionage 
XV  A  Phantasm 

XVI  "An  All-Conquering  Beauty'* 

XVII  In  the  Green  Boudoir 

XVIII  "You  Look  As  If— As  If— " 

XIX  Frenzy 

XX  "  What  Do  You  Know?  " 

XXI  Providence 

XXII  On  the  Second  Terrace 

XXIII  A  Coral  Bead 

XXIV  "  Shall  I  Give  Him  My  Word,  Harry? 
XXV  The  Work  of  an  Instant 

XXVI     "  He  Will  Never  Forgive  " 
XXVII    The  Final  Struggle 


PAGE 

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315 

321 

331 
338 
340 
350 


THE    MILLIONAIRE     BABY 
I 

TWO  LITTLE   SHOES 

The  morning  of  August  eighteenth,  190 — , 
was  a  memorable  one  to  me.  For  two  months 
I  had  had  a  run  of  bad  luck.  During  that 
time  I  had  failed  to  score  in  at  least  three 
affairs  of  unusual  importance,  and  the  result 
was  a  decided  loss  in  repute  as  well  as  great 
financial  embarrassment.  As  I  had  a  mother 
and  two  sisters  to  support  and  knew  but  one 
way  to  do  it,  I  was  in  a  state  of  profound  dis- 
couragement. This  was  before  I  took  up  the 
morning  papers.  After  I  had  opened  and 
read  them,  not  a  man  in  Xew  York  could  boast 
of  higher  hopes  or  greater  confidence  in  his 
power  to  rise  by  one  bold  stroke  from  threat- 
ened bankruptcy  to   immediate  independence. 

The  paragraph  which  had  occasioned  this 
amazing  change  must  have  passed  under  the 
eyes  of  many  of  you.    It  created  a  wide-spread 

1 


THE  MILLIOjS'AIRE  BABY 

exeitt?inent  at  -the  time  and  raised  in  more  than 
one  "breast  the  hope  of  ttpeedj  fortune.  It  was 
r.ttaehod  to,  or  rather  introduced,  the  most 
startling  feature  of  the  week,  and  it  ran  thus: 

A  FOETUXE  FOE  A  CHILD. 
By  cable  from  Southampton. 

A  reward  of  five  thousand  dollars  is  offered, 
bj  Philo  Ocumpaugh,  to  whoever  will  give 
such  information  as  will  lead  to  the  recovery, 
alive  or  dead,  of  his  six-vear-old  daughter, 
Gwendolen,  missing  since  the  afternoon  of  Au- 
gust the  16th,   from  her  home  in  on- 

the-Hudson,  Xew  York,  H.   S.  A. 

Fifty  thousand  dollars  additional  and  no 
questions  asked  if  she  is  restored  unharmed 
within  the  week  to  her  mother  at  Home- 
wood. 

All  communications  to  be  addressed  to  Sam- 
uel Atwater,  on-the-Hudson. 

A  minute  description  of  the  child  followed, 
but  this  did  not  interest  me,  and  I  did  not 
linger  over  it.  The  child  was  no  stranger  to 
me.  I  knew  her  well  and  consequently  was 
quite  aware  of  her  personal  characteristics. 
It  was  the  great  amount  offered  for  her  disoor- 


TWO  LITTLE  SHOES 

ery  and  restoration  which  moved  me  so  deeply. 
Fifty  thousand  dollars!  A  fortune  for  any 
man.  More  than  a  fortune  to  me,  who  stood 
in  such  need  of  ready  money.  I  was  deter- 
mined to  win  this  extraordinary  sum.  I  had 
my  reason  for  hope  and,  in  the  light  of  this 
unexpectedly  munificent  reward,  decided  to 
waive  all  the  considerations  which  had  hitherto 
prevented  me  from  stirring  in  the  matter. 

There  were  other  reasons  less  selfish  which 
gave  impetus  to  my  resolve.     I  had  done  busi- 
ness for  the  Ocumpaughs  before  and  been  well 
treated  in  the  transaction.     I  recognized  and 
understood   both   Mr.    Ocumpaugh's    peculiari- 
ties and  those  of  his  admired  and  devoted  wife. 
As  man   and  woman  they  were  kindly,   hon- 
orable   and    devoted   to   many    more    interests 
than  those  connected  with  their  own  wealth. 
I  also  knew  their  hearts  to  be  wrapped  up  in 
this  child,— the  sole  offspring  of   a  long  and 
happy  union,  and  the  actual  as  well  as  pros- 
pective inheritor  of  more  millions  than  I  shall 
ever    see    thousands,    unless    I    am    fortunate 
enough  to  solve  the  mystery  now  exercising  the 
sympathies  of  the  whole  :N'ew  York  public. 
You  have  all  heard  of  this  child  under  an- 
8 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

other  nama  From  her  birth  she  has  been 
known  as  the  Millionaire  Baby,  being  the  direct 
heir  to  three  fortunes,  two  of  which  she  had 
already  received.  I  saw  her  first  when  sli9 
was  three  years  old — a  cherubic  little  being, 
lovely  to  look  upon  and  possessing  unusual 
qualities  for  so  young  a  child.  Indeed,  her 
picturesque  beauty  and  appealing  ways  would 
have  attracted  all  eyes  and  won  all  hearts,  even 
if  she  had  not  represented  in  her  small  per- 
son the  wealth  both  of  the  Ocumpaugh  and 
Rathbone  families.  There  was  an  individual- 
ity about  her,  combined  with  sensibilities  of 
no  ordinary  nature,  which  fully  accounted  for 
the  devoted  affection  with  w^hich  she  was  Tini- 
versally  regarded;  and  when  she  suddenly  dis- 
appeared, it  was  easy  to  comprehend,  if  one 
did  not  share,  the  thrill  of  horror  which  swept 
from  one  end  of  our  broad  continent  to  the 
other.  Those  who  knew  the  parents,  and  those 
who  did  not,  suffered  ar  equal  pang  at  the 
awful  thought  of  this  petted  innocent  lost 
in  the  depths  of  the  great  unknown,  with 
only  the  false  caresses  of  her  abductors  to  com- 
fort her  for  the  deprivation  of  all  those  de- 
lights which  love  and  unlimited  means  could 
4 


TWO  LITTLE  SHOES. 

provide  to  make  a  child  of  her  years  supremely 
happy. 

Her  father  —  and  this  was  what  gave  the 
keen  edge  of  horror  to  the  whole  occurrenoe — 
was  in  Europe  when  she  disappeared.  He  had 
been  cabled  at  once  and  his  answer  was  the 
proffered  reward  with  which  I  have  opened 
this  history.  An  accompanying  despatch  to 
his  distracted  wife  announced  his  relinquish- 
ment of  the  project  which  had  taken  him 
abroad  and  his  immediate  return  on  the  next 
steamer  sailing  from  Southampton.  As  this 
chanced  to  be  the  fastest  on  the  line,  we  had 
reason  to  expect  him  in  six  days;  meanwhile — 

But  to  complete  my  personal  recapitula- 
tions. When  the  first  news  of  this  startling 
abduction  flashed  upon  my  eyes  from  the  bul- 
letin boards,  I  looked  on  the  matter  as  one  of 
too  great  magnitude  to  be  dealt  with  by  any 
but  the  metropolitan  police ;  but  as  time  passed 
and  further  details  of  the  strange  and  seem- 
ingly inexplicable  affair  came  to  light,  I  be- 
gan to  feel  the  stirring  of  the  detective  instinct 
within  me  (did  I  say  that  I  was  connected 
with  a  private  detective  agency  of  some  note 
in  the  metropolis?)  ajid  a  desire,  quite  apart 
6 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

from  any  mere  humane  interest  in  tlie  event 
itself,  to  locate  the  intelligence  back  of  such 
a  desperate  crime :  an  intelligence  so  keen  that, 
up  to  the  present  moment,  if  we  may  trust  the 
published  accounts  of  the  affair,  not  a  clue  had 
been  unearthed  by  which  its  author  could  be 
traced,  or  the  means  employed  for  carrying  off 
this  petted  object  of  a  thousand  cares. 

To  be  sure,  there  was  a  theory  which  elim- 
inated all  crime  from  the  occurrence  as  well 
as  the  intervention  of  any  one  in  the  child's 
fate :  she  might  have  strayed  down  to  the  river 
and  been  dro\vned.  But  the  probabilities  were 
so  opposed  to  this  supposition,  that  the  police 
had  refused  to  embrace  it,  although  the  mother 
had  accepted  it  from  the  first,  and  up  to  the 
present  moment,  or  so  it  was  stated,  had  re- 
fused to  consider  any  other.  As  she  had  some 
basis  for  this  conclusion — I  am  still  quoting 
the  papers,  you  understand  —  I  was  not  dis- 
posed to  ignore  it  in  the  study  I  proceeded  to 
make  of  the  situation.  The  details,  as  I  ran 
them  over  in  the  hurried  trip  I  now  made  up 
the  river  to ,  were  as  follows: 

On  the  afternoon  of  Wednesday,  August  six- 
teenth,  190 — ,   the  guests  assembled  i^  Mrs. 

6 


TWO  LITTLE  SHOES 

Ocumpaugh's  white  and  gold  music-room  were 
suddenly  thrown  into  confusion  by  the  appear- 
ance among  them  of  a  young  girl  in  a  state 
of  great  perturbation,  who,  running  up  to  the 
startled  hostess,  announced  that  Gwendolen, 
the  petted  darling  of  the  house,  was  missing 
from  the  bungalow  where  she  had  been  lying 
asleep,  and  could  not  be  found,  though  a  dozen 
men  had  been  out  on  search. 

The  wretched  mother,  who,  as  it  afterward 
transpired,  had  not  only  given  the  orders  by 
which  the  child  had  been  thus  removed  from  the 
excitement  up  at  the  house,  but  had  actually 
been  herself  but  a  few  moments  before  to  see  that 
the  little  one  was  well  cared  for  and  Lappy, 
seemed  struck  as  by  a  mortal  blow  at  these  words 
and,  uttering  a  heart-rending  scream,  ran  out  on 
the  lawn.  A  crowd  of  guests  rushed  after  her, 
and  as  they  followed  her  flying  figure  across 
the  lawn  to  the  small  copse  in  which  lay  hid- 
den this  favored  retreat,  they  could  hear,  borne 
back  on  the  vrind,  the  vrild  protests  of  the 
young  nurse,  that  she  had  left  the  child  for  a 
minute  only  and  then  to  go  no  farther  than 
the  bench  running  along  the  end  of  the  bun- 
galow facing  the  house ;  that  she  had  been  told 
7 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

she  oould  sit  there  and  listen  to  the  music,  but 
that  she  nerer  Trould  have  left  the  child's  side 
for  a  minute*  if  she  had  not  supposed  she  would 
hear  her  least  stir — protests  which  th^e  m-Otiier 
scarcely  seemed  to  heed,  and  which-  were  pres- 
entlj  lost  in  the  deep  silence  which  fell  on  all. 
as,  brought  to  a  stand  in  the  thici  shnibberv 
surrounding  the  bungalow,  thev  saw  the  mother 
stagger  up  to  the  door,  look  in  and  turn  to- 
ward them  with  death  in  her  face, 

*^The  river !'^  she  gasped,  **the  river!''  and 
heedless  of  all  attempt  to  stop  her,  heedless 
eiven  of  the  efforts  made  by  the  little  one's  nurse 
to  draw  her  attention  to  the  nearness  of  a  cer- 
tain opening  in  the  high  hedge  marking  off 
the  Ocumpaugh  grounds  on  this  side,  she  ran 
down  the  bank  in  the  direction  of  the  railway, 
but  fainted  before  she  had  more  than  cleared 
the  thicket  When  they  lifted  her  up,  they 
all  saw  the  reason  for  this.  She  had  come 
upon  a  little  shoe  which  she  held  with  frantic 
clutch  against  her  breast — her  child's  shoe, 
which,  as  she  afterward  acknowledge-d,  she 
had  loosened  with  her  own  hand  on  the  little 
one's  foot 

Of  course,  after  this  the  whole  hillside  wbb 
8 


TTVO  T.TTTT.K  SHOES 

searched  dowu  to  the-  fence  which  separated  it 
from  the  railroad  track.  But  no  furtiier  trace 
of  the  missing  child  wa^s  fouiul.  nor  did  it  ap- 
pear possible  to  any  one  tliat.  ^lle  could  have 
straved  away  in  this  dirootion.  For  not  only 
was  the  bank  exceedingly  steep  and  the  fcue^o 
at  its  base  impassable,  hut  a  gang  o{  men,  work- 
ing as  g\.xid  fortune  would  liavo  it,  at  such  a 
point  on  thoi  road  Ivlow  as  to  render  it  next 
to  impossible  for  her  to  have  crossed  the  track 
within  a  half-mile  either  way  without  being 
observed,  had  one  and  all  declared  that  not 
one  of  them  had  seen  her  or  any  other  person 
descend  the  slope. 

This,  however,  made  but  little  inipi-et^ion 
on  the  mother.  She  would  listen  to  no  lunta 
of  abduction,  but.  persisted  in  her  dtvlanition 
that  the  river  had  sv,-aHo\ved  her  darling,  and 
would  neither  rest  nor  turn  lier  head  from  it3 
waters  till  some  half  a  dozen  men  tihowt  the 
place  had  been  set  systematically  to  work  to 
drag  the  stream. 

Meanwhile,  the  police  had  Ix^en  notitied  and 
the  whole  town  aroused.  The  search,  which 
had  been  carried  on  up  to  this  time  in  a  fran- 
tic but  desultory  way,  now  became  methodical. 
9 


THE  MILLIOXAIKE  BABY, 

"Not  was  it  confined  to  the  Ocumpaugli  estate. 
All  tibe  roads  and  bjways  within  half  a  mile 
either  way  were  covered  by  a  most  careful  in- 
vestigation. All  the  near-by  houses  were  en- 
tered, especially  those  which  the  child  waa 
most  in  the  habit  of  frequenting,  but  no  one 
had  seen  her,  nor  could  any  trace  of  her  pres- 
ence be  found.  At  five  o'clock  all  hope  of  her 
return  was  abandoned  and,  much  against  Mrs. 
Ocumpaugh's  wish,  who  declared  that  the  news 
of  the  child's  death  would  affect  her  father  far 
less  than  the  dreadful  possibilities  of  an  ab- 
duction, the  exact  facts  of  the  case  had  been 
cabled  to  Mr.  Ocumpaugh. 

The  night  and  another  day  passed,  bringing 
but  little  relief  to  the  situation.  Not  an  eye 
had  as  yet  been  closed  in  Homewood,  nor  had 
the  search  ceased  for  an  instant.  Not  an  inch 
of  the  great  estate  had  been  overlooked,  yet 
men  could  still  be  seen  beating  the  bushes  and 
peering  into  all  the  secluded  spots  which  once 
had  formed  the  charm  of  this  delightful  place. 
As  on  the  land,  so  on  the  river.  All  the  waters 
in  the  dock  had  been  dragged,  yet  the  work 
went  on,  some  said  under  the  very  eye  of  Mrs. 
Ocumpaugh.  But  there  was  no  result  as  yet. 
10 


TWO  LITTLE  SHOES 

Li  the  city  the  interest  was  intense.     The 
telegraph  at  police  headquarters  had  been  click- 
ing incessantly  for  thirty-six  hours  under  the 
direction,    some    said,    of    the    superintendent 
himself.     Everything  which  could  be  done  had 
been  done,  but  as  yet  the  papers  were  able  to 
report  nothing  beyond  some  vague  stories  of 
a  child,  with  its  face  very  much  bound  up,  hav- 
ing been  seen  at  the  heels  of  a  woman  in  the 
Grand    Central    Station    in    New   York,    and 
hints  of  a  covered  wagon,  with  a  crying  child 
inside,  which  had  been  driven  through  West- 
chester County  at  a  great  pace  shortly  before 
sunset  on  the  previous  day,  closely  followed  by 
a  buggy  with  the  storm-apron  up,  though  the 
gun  shone  and  there  was  not  a  cloud  in  the 
sky;  but  nothing  definite,  nothing  which  could 
give  hope  to  the  distracted  mother  or  do  more 
than  divide  the  attention  of  the  police  between 
two    different    but    equally    tenable    theories. 
Then   came   the   cablegram   from   Mr.    Ocum- 
paugh,   which  threw  amateur   as  well  as  pro- 
fessional detectives  into  the  field.     Among  the 
latter  was  myself;  which  naturally  brings  me 
back  once  more  to  my  own  conclusions. 

Of  one  thing  I  felt  sure.     Very  early  in  my 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY- 

cogitations,  before  we  had  quitted  the  Park 
Avenue  tunnel  in  fact,  I  had  decided  in  mj 
own  mind  that  if  I  were  to  succeed  in  locat- 
ing the  lost  heiress,  it  must  be  by  subtler  meth- 
ods than  lay  open  to  the  police.  I  was  master 
of  such  methods  (in  this  case  at  least),  and 
though  one  of  many  owning  to  similar  hopes 
on  this  very  train  which  was  rushing  me 
through  to  Homewood,  I  had  no  feeling  but 
that  of  confidence  in  a  final  success.  How  well 
founded  this  confidence  was,  will  presently  ap- 
pear. 

The  number  of  seedy-looking   men   with   a 
mysterious   air   who   alighted   in  my  company 

at  station  and  immediately  proceeded  to 

make  their  way  up  the  steep  street  toward 
Homewood,  warned  me  that  it  would  soon  be 
extremely  difficult  for  any  one  to  obtain  access 
to  the  parties  most  interested  in  the  child's  loss. 
Had  I  not  possessed  the  advantsfge  of  being 
already  known  to  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,  I  should 
have  immediately  given  up  all  hope  of  ever 
obtaining  access  to  her  presence;  and  even 
with  this  fact  to  back  me,  I  approached 
the  house  with  very  little  confidence  in  my 
ability  to  win  my  way  through  the  high  iron 
12 


TWO  LITTLE  SHOES 

gates  I  had  so  frequently  passed  before  without 
difficulty. 

And  indeed  I  found  tbem  well  guarded.    As 
I  came  nearer,  I  could  see  man  after  man  being 
turned  away,   and  not  till  my  card  had  been 
handed  in,  and  a  hurried  n9te  to  boot,  did  I 
obtain  permission  to  pass  the  first  boundary. 
Another    note    secured    me   admission    to    the 
house,   but  there  my  progress  stopped.      Mrs. 
Ocumpaugh  had  already  been  interviewed  by 
five  reporters  and  a  special  agent  from  the  Xew 
York  police.     She  could  see  no  one  else  at  pres- 
ent.    If,  however,  my  business  was  of  impor- 
tance, an  opportunity  would  be  given  me  to  see 
Miss  Porter.     Miss  Porter  was  her  companion 
and  female  factotum. 

As  I  had  calculated  upon  having  a  half- 
dozen  words  with  the  mother  herself,  I  was 
greatly  thrown  out  by  this;  but  going  upon  the 
principle  that  ^'half  a  loaf  was  better  than  no 
bread,"  I  was  about  to  express  a  desire  to  see 
Miss  Porter,  when  an  incident  occurred  which 
effectually  changed  my  mind  in  this  regard.^ 

The  hall  in  which  I  was  standing  and  which 
communicated  with  the  side  door  by  which  I 
had  entered,  ended  in  a  staircase,  leading,  as 
13 


THE  MILLIONAIBE  BABY 

I  had  reason  to  believe,  to  the  smaller  and  less 
pretentions  rooms  in  the  rear  of  the  house. 
While  I  hesitated  what  reply  to  give  the  girl 
awaiting  my  decision,  I  caught  the  sound  of 
soft  weeping  from  the  top  of  this  staircase, 
and  presently  beheld  the  figure  of  a  young 
woman  coming  slowly  down,  clad  in  coat  and 
hat  and  giving  every  evidence  both  in  dress 
and  manner  of  leaving  for  good.  It  was  Miss 
Graham,  a  young  woman  who  held  the  posi- 
tion of  nursery-goveiTiess  to  the  child.  I  had 
seen  her  before,  and  had  no  small  admiration 
for  her,  and  the  sensations  I  experienced  at 
the  sight  of  her  leaving  the  house  where  her 
services  were  apparently  no  longer  needed, 
proved  to  me,  possibly  for  the  first  time,  that 
I  had  more  heart  in  my  breast  than  I  had 
ever  before  realized.  But  it  was  not  this  which 
led  me  to  say  to  the  maid  standing  before  me 
that  I  preferred  to  see  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  her- 
self, and  would  call  early  the  next  day.  It 
was  the  thought  that  this  sorrowing  girl  would 
have  to  pass  the  gauntlet  of  many  prying  eyes 
on  her  way  to  the  station  and  that  she  might 
be  glad  of  an  escort  whom  she  knew  and  had 
shown  some  trust  in.  Also, — ^but  the  reasons 
14 


TWO  LITTLE  SHOES 
behind  that  also  will  soon  become  sufficiently 

apparent 

I  was  right  in  supposing  that  mv  presence 
on  the  porch  outside  would  be  a  pleasing  sur- 
prise to  her.     Though  her  tears  continued  to 
flow  she  accepted  my  proffered  companionship 
with  gratitude,  and  soon  we  were  passing  side 
by  side  across  the  lawn  toward  a  short  cut  lead- 
ing  down   the   bank   to   the   small  flag-station 
used   by    the  family    and   by   certain    favored 
neighbors.       As    we    threaded   the   shrubbery, 
which  is  very  thick  about  the  place,   she  ex- 
plained to  me  the  cause  of  her  abrupt  depart- 
ure.    The  sight  of  her,  it  seems,  had  become 
insupportable   to    Mrs.    Ocumpaugh.      Though 
no  blame  could  be  rightfully  attached  to  her, 
it  was  certainly  true  that  the  child  had  been 
can-ied  off  while  in  her  charge,   and  however 
hard  it  might  be  for  her,  few  could  blame  the 
mother    for    wishing    her    removed    from  the 
houae-  desolated  by  her  lack  of  vigilance.     But 
she  was  a  good  girl  and  felt  the  humiliation 
of  her  departure  ahnost  in  the  light  of  a  dis- 
grace. 

As  we  came  again  into  an  open  portion  of 
the  lawn,  she  stopped  short,  and  looked  back. 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

''Oh!''  she  cried,  gripping  me  by  the  arm, 
"there  is  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  still  at  the  window. 
AU  night  she  has  stood  there,  except  when  she 
flew  do^vn  to  the  river  at' the  sound  of  some 
imaginary  call  from  the  boats.  She  believes^ 
she  really  believes,  that  they  will  yet  come  upon 
Gwendolen's  body  in  the  dock  there." 

Eollowing    the    direction    of    her    glance,  I 
looked  up.     Was  that  Mrs.   Ocumpaugh— that 
haggard,  intent  figure  with  eyes  fixed  in  awful 
expectancy  on  the  sinister  group  I  could  pic- 
ture   to    myself    down    at    the    water's    edge? 
'Never  could  I  have  imagined  such  a  look  on 
features  I   had   always  considered   as  cold   as 
they  were  undeniably  beautiful.     As  I  took  in 
the  misery  it  expressed,  that  awful  waiting  for 
an  event  momently  anticipated,  and  momently 
postponed,  I  found  myself,  without  reason  and 
simply  in  response  to  the  force  of  her  expres- 
sion,   unconsciously    sharing    her    expectation, 
and  with  a  momentary  forgetfulness  of  all  the 
probabilities,    was   about   to    turn    toward    the 
spot  upon  which  her  glances  were  fixed,  when 
a  touch  on  my  arm  recalled  me  to  myself. 

"Come!"  whispered  my  trembling  compan- 
ion.    "She  may  look  down  and  see  us  here." 
16 


TWO  LITTLE  SHOES 

I  yielded  to  her  persuasion  and  turned  away 
into  the  cluster  of  trees  that  lay  between  us 
and  that  opening  in  the  hedge  through  which 
our  course  lay.  Had  I  been  alone  I  should 
not  have  budged  till  I  had  seen  some  change- 
any  change— in  the  face  whose  appearance 
had  so  deeply  affected  me. 

''Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  certainly  believes  that 
the  body  of  her  child  Hes  in  the  water,"  I  re- 
marked, as  we  took  our  way  onward  as  rapidly 
as  possible.      ''Do  you  know  her  reasons  for 

this?" 

"She  says,  and  I  think  she  is  right  so  far, 
that  the  child  has  been  bent  for  a  long  time 
on  fishing;  that  she  has  heard  her  father  talk 
repeatedly  of  his   great  luck  in   Canada  last 
year  and  wished  to  try  the  sport  for  herself; 
that  she  has  been  forbidden  to  go  to  the  river, 
but    must    have    taken    the    first    opportunity 
when  no  eye  was  on  her  to  do  so ;  and — and 
Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  shows  a  bit  of  string  which 
she  found  last  night  in  the  bushes  alongside 
the  tracks  when  she  ran  down,  as  I  have  said, 
at    some    imaginary   shout    from    the   boats— 
a  string  which  she  declares  she  saw  rolled  up 
in  Gwendolen's  hand  when  she  went  into  the 

17 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

bungalow  to  look  at  her.  Of  course,  it  may 
not  be  the  same,  but  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  thinks 
it  is,  and — '' 

^'Do  YOU  think  it  possible,  after  all,  that 
the  child  did  stray  down  to  the  water  ?" 

'^Xo,"  was  the  vehement  disclaimer.  "Gwen- 
dolen's feet  were  excessively  tender.  She 
could  not  have  taken  three  steps  in  only  one 
shoe.      I  should  have   heard  her  cry  out." 

"What  if  she  went  in  some  one's  arms  ?" 

"A  stranger's  ?  She  had  a  decided  instinct 
against  strangers.  'Never  could  any  one  she 
did  not  know  and  like  have  carried  her  so  far 
as  that  without  her  waking.  Then  those  men 
on  the  track, — they  would  have  seen  her. 
INo,  Mr.  Trevitt,  it  was  not  in  that  direction 
she  went" 

The  force  of  her  emphasis  convinced  me  that 
she  had  an  opinion  of  her  own  in  regard  to 
this  matter.  Was  it  one  she  was  ready  to  im- 
part? 

"In  what  direction,  then  ?"  I  asked,  with  a 
gentleness  I  hoped  would  prove  effective. 

Her  impulse  was  toward  a  frank  reply.  I 
saw  her  lips  part  and  her  eyes  take  on  the 
look  which  precedes  a   direct  avowal,  but,   as 

18 


TWO  LITTLE  SHOES 

chance  would  have  it,  we  came  at  that  moment 
upon  the  thicket  inclosing  the  bungalow,  and 
the  sight  of  its  picturesque  walls,  showing 
brown  through  the  verdure  of  the  surrounding 
shrubbery,  seemed  to  act  as  a  check  upon  her, 
for,  with  a  quick  look  and  a  certain  dry  ac- 
cent quite  new  in  her  speech,  she  suddenly  in- 
quired if  I  did  not  want  to  see  the  place  from 
which  Gwendolen  had  disappeared. 

iN'aturally  I  answered  in  the  affirmative  and 
followed  her  as  she  turned  aside  into  the  cir- 
cular path  which  embraces  this  hidden  retreat; 
but  I  had  rather  have  heard  her  answer  to 
my  question,  than  to  have  gone  anywhere  or 
seen  anything  at  that  moment.  Yet,  when  in 
full  view  of  the  bungalow's  open  door,  she 
stopped  to  point  out  to  me  the  nearness  of 
the  place  to  that  opening  in  the  hedge  we  had 
just  been  making  for,  and  when  she  even  went 
so  far  as  to  indicate  the  tangled  little  path  by 
which  that  opening  could  be  reached  directly 
from  the  farther  end  of  the  bungalow,  I  con- 
sidered that  my  question  had  been  answered, 
though  in  another  way  than  I  anticipated, 
even  before  I  noted  the  slight  flush  which  rose 
to  her  cheek  under  my  earnest  scrutiny. 
19 


THE  MILLIO:tsrAIRE  BABY 

As  it  is  important  for  the  exact  location  of 
the  bungalow  to  be  understood,  I  subjoin  a 
diagram  of  this  part  of  the  grounds: 


.  •J\]^:,\M^f^y:!^i^  <0 EMBANKMENT 


0009 


LAWN  BITENDINO  TO  THE  HIGHWAY. 

A  The  Ocumpaugh  mansion.  B  The  Bungalow.  C  Mrs. 
Carew'8  house.  D  Private  path.  E  Gap  in  hedge  leading  to 
the  Ocumpaugh  grounds.  F  Gap  leading  into  Mrs.  Carew's 
grounds.     G  Bench  at  end  ot  bungalow. 


As  I  took  this  all  in,  I  ventured  to  ask  some 
particulars  of  the  family  living  so  near  the 
Ocumpaughs. 

"Who  occupies  that  house  ?"  I  asked,  point- 
ing to  the  sloping  roofs  and  ornamental  chim- 
20 


TWO  LITTLE  SHOES 

neys  arising  just  beyond  us  over  the  hedge- 
rows. 

"Oh,  that  is  Mrs.  Carew's  homa  She  is  a 
widow  and  Mrs.  Ociunpaugh's  dearest  friend 
How  she  loved  Gwendolen !  How  we  all  loved 
her!     And  now,  that  wretch — " 

She  burst  into  tears.  They  were  genuine 
ones;  so  was  her  grief. 

I  waited  till  she  was  calm  again,  then  I  in- 
quired very  softly: 

"What  wretch  ?" 

"You  have  not  been  inside,"  she  suggested, 
pointing  sharply  to  the  bungalow. 

I  took  the  implied  rebuke  and  entered  the 
door  she  indicated.  A  man  was  sitting  within, 
but  he  rose  and  went  out  when  he  saw  us.  He 
wore  a  policeman's  badge  and  evidently  recog- 
nized her  or  possibly  myself.  I  noted,  how- 
ever, that  he  did  not  go  fa.r  from  the  doorway. 

"It  is  only  a  den,"  remarked  Miss  Graham. 

I  looked  about  me.  She  had  described  it  per- 
fectly: a  place  to  lounge  in  on  an  August  day 
like  the  present.  Walls  of  Georgia  pine  across 
one  of  which  hung  a  series  of  long  dark  rugs; 
a  long,  low  window  looking  toward  the  house, 
and   a   few  articles   of  bamboo  fumitisre   d»- 

81 


THE  millio:n'aiee  baby 

scribe  the  place.  Among  the  latter  was  a 
couch.  It  was  drawn  up  underneath  the  win- 
dow, on  the  other  side  of  which  ran  the  bench 
where  my  companion  declared  she  had  beexx  oit- 
ting  while  listening  to  the  music. 

"Wouldn't  you  think  my  attention  would  have 
been  caught  by  the  sound  of  any  one  moving 
about  here?"  she  cried,  pointing  to  the  couch 
and  then  to  the  window.  "But  the  window  was 
closed  and  the  door,  as  you  see,  is  round  the 
corner  from  the  bench." 

"A  person  with  a  very  stealthy  step,  appar- 
ently." 

"Very,"  she  admitted.  "Oh,  how  can  I  ever 
forgive  myself!  how  can  I  ever,  ever  forgive 
myself!" 

As  she  stood  wringing  her  hands  in  sight 
of  that  empty  couch,  I  cast  a  scrutinizing  glance 
about  me,  which  led  me  to  remark: 

"This  interior  looks  new;  much  newer  than 
the  outside.     It  has  quite  a  modern  air." 

"Yes,  the  bungalow  is  old,  very  old ;  but  this 
room,  or  den,  or  whatever  you  might  call  it, 
was  all  remodeled  and  fitted  up  as  you  see  it 
now  when  the  new  house  went  up.  It  had  long 
been  abandoned  as  a  place  of  retreat,  and  bad 
22 


TWO  LITTLE  SHOES 

fallen  into  such  decay  that  it  was  a  perfect' 
eyesore  to  all  who  saw  it.     Xow  it  is  likely 
to  be  abandoned  again,  and  for  what  a  reason ! 
Oh,  the  dreadful  place!     How  I  hate  it,  now 
Gwendolen  is  gone  I" 

^'One  moment  I  notice  another  thing. 
This  room  does  not  occupy  the  whole  of  the 
bungalow.'' 

Either  she  did  not  hear  me  or  thought  it 
unnecessary  to  reply;  and  perceiving  that  her 
grief  had  now  given  way  to  an  impatience  to 
be  gone,  I  did  not  press  the  matter,  but  led 
the  way  myself  to  the  door.  As  we  entered 
the  little  path  which  runs  directly  to  that  out- 
let in  the  hedge  marked  E,  I  ventured  to  speak 
again: 

'*You  have  reasons,  or  so  it  appears,  for  be- 
lieving that  the  child  was  carried  off  through 
this  very  path  ?" 

The  reply  was  impetuous: 

"How  else  could  she  have  been  spirited  away 
90  quickly  ?  Besides, — "  here  her  eye  stole 
back  at  me  over  her  shoulder, — "I  have  since 
remembered  that  as  I  ran  out  of  the  bungalow 
in  my  fright  at  finding  the  child  gone,  I  heard 
the  sound  of  wheels  on  Mrs.  Carew's  driveway. 
23 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

It  did  not  mean  much  to  me  then,  for  I  ex- 
pected to  find  the  child  somewhere  about  the 
grounds;  but  now^  when  I  come  to  thini:,  it 
means  everything,  for  a  child's  cry  mingled 
with  it  (or  I  imagined  that  it  did)  and  that 
child— '^ 

''But,"  I  forcibly  interposed,  "the  police 
should  know  this." 

'They  do;  and  so  does  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh ; 
but  she  has  only  the  one  idea,  and  nothing  can 
move  her." 

I  remembered  the  wagon  ^dth  the  crying 
child  inside  which  had  been  seen  on  the  roads 
the  previous  evening,  and  my  heart  fell  a  little 
in  spite  of  myself. 

"Couldn't  Mrs.  Carew  tell  us  something 
about  this  ?"  I  asked,  with  a  gesture  toward 
the  house  we  were  now  passing. 

"J^o.  Mrs.  Carew  went  to  Xew  York  that 
morning  and  had  only  just  returned  when  we 
missed  Gwendolen.  She  had  been  "for  her  lit- 
tle nephew,  who  has  lately  been  made  an  or- 
phan, and  she  was  too  busy  making  him  feel 
at  home  to  notice  if  a  carriage  had  passed 
through  her  grounds." 

"Her  servants  then?" 

24 


wmn 


TWO  LITTLE  SHOES 

^'She  had  none.  All  had  been  sent  away. 
The  house  was  quite  empty." 

I  thought  this  rather  odd,  but  having  at  this 
moment  reached  the  long  flight  of  steps  lead- 
ing down  the  embankment,  I  made  no  reply 
till  we  reached  the  foot.     Then  I  observed: 

"I  thought  Mrs.  Carew  was  very  intimate 
with  Mrs.   Ocumpaugh." 

^'She  is ;  they  are  more  like  sisters  than  mere 
friends." 

"Yet  she  goes  to  New  York  the  very  day 
her  friend  gives  a  musicale." 

'*0h,  she  had  good  reasons  for  that  Mrs. 
Carew  is  planning  to  sail  this  week  for  Europe, 
and  this  was  her  only  opportunity  for  getting 
her  little  nephew,  who  is  to  go  with  her.  But 
I  don't  know  as  she  will  sail,  now.  She 
is  wild  with  grief  over  Gwendolen's  loss,  and 
will  not  feel  like  leaving  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  till 
she  knows  whether  we  shall  ever  see  the  dear 
child  again.     But,  I  shall  miss  my  train." 

Here  her  step  visibly  hastened. 

As  it  was  really  very  nearly  due,  I  had  not 

the  heart  to  detain  her.     But  as  I  followed  in 

her  wake  I  noticed  that  for  all  her  hurry  a 

curious  hesitancy  crept  into  her  step  at  times, 

25 


THE  MILLIOKAIEE  BABY 

and  I  should  not  have  been  surprised  at  any 
moment  to  see  her  stop  and  confront  me  on 
one  of  the  two  remaining  long  flights  of  steps 
leading  down  the  steep  hillside. 

But  we  both  reached  the  base  without  her 
having  yielded  to  this  impulse,  and  presently 
we  found  ourselves  in  full  view  of  the  river 
and  the  small  flag-station  located  but  a  few 
rods  away  toward  the  left.  As  we  turned  to- 
ward the  latter,  we  both  cast  an  involuntary 
look  back  at  the  Ocumpaugh  dock,  Avhere  a 
dozen  men  could  be  seen  at  work  dragging  the 
river-bed  with  grappling  irons.  It  made  a 
sadly  suggestive  picture,  and  the  young  girl  at 
my  side  shuddered  violently  as  we  noted  the 
expression  of  morbid  curiosity  on  the  faces  of 
such  onlookers,  men  and  women,  as  were 
drawn  up  at  the  end  of  the  small  point  on 
which  the  boat-house  stood. 

But  I  had  another  reason  than  this  for  urg- 
ing her  on.  I  had  noticed  how,  at  the  sight 
of  her  slight  figure  descending  the  slope,  some 
half-dozen  men  or  so  had  separated  themselves 
from  this  group,  with  every  appearance  of 
intending  to  waylay  and  question  her.  She 
noticed  this  too,  and  drawing  up  more 
26 


TWO  LITTLE  SHOES 

closely   to   mj   side,    exclaimed   with     marked 
feeling : 

'^Save  me  from  these  men  and  I  will  tell 
jou  something  that  no  one — '' 

But  here  she  stopped,  here  our  xerj  thoughts 
stopped.  A  shout  had  risen  from  the  group 
at  the  water-edge;  a  shout  which  made  us  both 
turn,  and  even  caused  the  men  who  had  started 
to  follow  us  to  wheel  about  and  rush  back  to 
the  dock  with  every  appearance  of  intense  ex- 
citement 

''What  is  it?  What  can  it  be?"  faltered 
my  greatly-alarmed  companion. 

"They  have  found  something.  See!  what 
is  that  the  man  in  the  boat  is  holding  up? 
It  looks  like—" 

But  she  was  already  half-way  to  the  point, 
outstripping  the  very  men  whose  importunities 
she  had  shiTink  from  a  moment  before.  I  was 
not  far  behind  her,  and  almost  immediately  we 
found  ourselves  wedged  among  the  agitated 
group  leaning  over  the  little  object  which  had 
been  tossed  ashore  into  the  first  hand  out- 
stret^ched  to  receive  it. 

It  was  a  second  little  shoe — filled  with  sand 
and  dripping  with  water,  but  recognizable  as 
27 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

similar  to  the  one  already  found  on  the  pre- 
ceding daj  high  up  on  the  bank.  As  this  fact 
was  borne  in  on  us  all,  a  groan  of  pity  broke 
from  more  than  one  pair  of  lips,  and  eye  after 
eye  stole  up  the  hillside  to  that  far  window  in 
the  great  pile  above  us  where  the  mother's  form 
'could  be  dimly  discerned  swaying  in  an  agi- 
tation caught  from  our  own  excitement. 

But  there  was  one  amongst  us  whose  glance 
never  left  that  little  shoe.  The  train  she  had 
been  so  anxious  to  take  whistled  and  went 
thimdering  by,  but  she  never  moved  or  no- 
ticed.    Suddenly  she  reached  out  her  hand. 

"Let  me  see  it,  please,"  she  entreated.  "I 
was  her  nurse;  let  me  take  it  in  my  hand." 

The  man  who  held  it  passed  it  over.  She 
examined  it  long  and  closely. 

"Yes,  it  is  hers,"  said  she.  But  in  another 
moment  she  had  laid  it  down  with  what  I 
thought  was  a  very  peculiar  look. 

Instantly  it  was  caught  up  and  carried  with 
a  rush  up  the  slope  to  where  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh 
could  be  seen  awaiting  it  with  out«;tretched 
arms.  But  I  did  not  linger  to  mark  her  re- 
ception of  it.  Miss  Graham  had  drawn  me 
to  one  side  and  was  whispering  in  my  ear: 


TWO  LITTLE  SHOES 

"I  must  talk  to  you.  I  can  not  keep  back 
another  moment  what  I  think  or  what  I  feel. 
Some  one  is  playing  with  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's 
fears.  That  shoe  is  Gwendolen's,  but  it  is  not 
the  mate  of  the  one  found  on  the  bank  above. 
That  was  for  the  left  foot  and  so  is  this  one. 
Did  you  not  notice  V^ 


29 


n 


"a  feaesome  man  " 


Tlie  effect  of  tbis  statement  -apon  me  was 
greater  than  even  she  had  contemplated. 

"You  thoug'ht  the  child  had  been  stolen  for 
the  reward  she  would  bring?''  she  continued. 
*'She  was  not;  she  was  taken  out  of  pure  hate, 
and  that  is  why  I  suffer  so.  What  may  they 
not  do  to  her !  In  what  hole  hide  her !  My 
darling,  O  my  darling!" 

She  was  going  off  into  hysterics,  but  the  look 
and  touch  I  gave  her  recalled  her  to  herself. 

"We  need  to  be  calm,"  I  urged.  "You,  be- 
cause you  have  something  of  importance  to  im- 
part, and  I,  because  of  the  action  I  raust  take 
as  soon  as  the  facts  you  have  concealed  be- 
come known  to  me.  What  gives  you  such  con- 
fidence in  this  belief,  which  I  am  sure  is  not 
shared  by  the  police,  and  who  is  the  some  one 
who,  as  you  say,  is  playing  upon  Mrs.  Ocum- 
paugh's  fears?  A  short  time  ago  it  was  as 
the  wretch  you  spoke  of  him.  Are  not  some 
30 


"A  FEARSOME  MAK  '' 

one  and  the  wretch  one  and  the  same  person, 
and  can  you  not  give  him  now  a  name?" 

We  had  been  moving  all  this  time  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  station  and  had  now  reached  the 
foot  of  the  platform.  Pausing,  she  cast  a  last 
look  up  the  bank.  The  trees  were  thick  and 
hid  from  our  view  the  Ocumpaugh  mansion, 
but  in  imagination  she  beheld  the  mother 
moaning  over  that  little  shoe. 

"I  shall  never  return  there,"  she  muttered; 
"why  do  I  hesitate  so  to  speak!"  Then  in  a 
burst,  as  I  watched  her  in  growing  excitement: 
«S}ie — Mrs.  Ocumpaugh — ^begged  me  not  to  tell 
what  she  believed  had  nothing  to  do  with  our 
Gwendolen's  loss.  But  I  can  not  keep  silence. 
This  proof  of  a  conspiracy  against  herself  cer- 
tainly relieves  me  from  any  promise  I  may 
have  made  her.  Mr.  Trevitt,  I  am  positive  that 
I  know  who  carried  off  Gwendolen." 

This  was  becoming  interesting,  intensely  in- 
teresting to  me.  Glancing  about  and  noting 
that  the  group  down  at  the  water-edge  had  be- 
come absorbed  again  in  renewed  efforts  toward 
further  discoveries,  I  beckoned  her  to  follow 
me  into  the  station.  It  was  but  a  step,  but  it 
gave  me  time  to  think.  What  was  I  enoour- 
31 


THE  MILLION AIEE  BABY 

aging  this  young  girl  to  do?  To  reveal  to  me. 
who  had  no  claim  upon  her  but  that  of  friend- 
ship, a  secret  which  had  not  been  given  to  the 
police  ?  True,  it  might  not  be  worth  much, 
but  it  was  also  true  that  it  might  he  worth  a 
great  deal.  Did  she  know  how  much  ?  I  wanted 
money — few  wanted  it  more — but  I  felt  that 
I  could  not  listen  to  her  story  till  I  had  fairly 
settled  this  point.  I  therefore  hastened  to  inter- 
pose a  remark : 

"Miss  Graham,  you  are  good  enough  to  offer 
to  reveal  some  fact  hitherto  concealed.  Do 
you  do  this  because  you  have  no  closer  friend 
than  myself,  or  because  you  do  not  know  what 
such  knowledge  may  be  worth  to  the  person  you 
give  it  to — in  money,  I  mean?'' 

"In  money?  I  am  not  thinking  of  money," 
was  her  amazed  reply;  "I  am  thinking  of 
Gwendolen." 

"I  understand,  but  you  should  think  of  the 
practical  results  as  well.  Have  you  not  heard 
of  the  enormous  reward  offered  by  !Mr.  Ocum- 
paugh  V 

"1^0 ;  I—" 

"Five  thousand  dollars  for  information ;  and 
fifty  thousand  to  the  one  who  will  bring  her 
Z2 


"A  rEARSO:\IE  MA^^  " 

back  within  the  week  nnhamied.     Mr.   Ocum- 
pangh  cabled  to  that  effect  yesterday." 

^'It  is  a  large  sum,"  she  faltered,  and  for  a 
moment  she  hesitated.     Then,  with  a  sweet  and 
candid  look  which  sank  deep  into  raj  heart,  she 
added  gravely:      ^'T   had  rather   not  think   of 
money  in  connection  with  Gwendolen.     If  what 
I  have  to  tell  leads  to  her  recovery,  you  can  be 
triLsted,  I  know,  to  do  what  is  right  toward  me. 
1\Lt.   Trevitt,   the  man  who  stole  her  from  her 
couch  and  carried  her  away  through  Mrs.  Ca- 
reVs  grounds  in  a  wagon  or  otherwise,  is   a 
long-haired,  heavily  whiskered  man  of  sixty  or 
more  years  of  age.   His  face  is  deeply  wrinkled, 
but  chiefly  marked  by  a  long  scar  running  down 
between  his  eyebrows,  which  are  so  shaggy  that 
they  would  quite  hide  his  eyes  if  they  were  not 
lit  up  with  an  extraordinary  expression  of  reso- 
lution, carried  almost  to  the  point  of  frenzy; 
a  fearsome  man,  making  your  heart  stand  still 
when  he  pauses  to  speak  to  you." 

Startled  as  I  had  seldom  been,  for  reasons 
which   will  hereafter   appear,   I   surveyed  her 
^*n  mingled  wonder  and  satisfaction. 
^^His  name  ?"  I  demanded. 
^'I  do  not  know  his  name." 
33 


THE  MILLIOIS^AIRE  BABY 

Again  I  stopped  to  look  at  her. 

''Does  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  V^ 

"I  do  not  think  so.  She  only  knows  what  I 
told  her." 

"And  what  did  you  tell  her?" 

"Ah !  who  are  these  ?" 

Two  or  three  persons  had  entered  the  station, 
probably  to  wait  for  the  next  train. 

"IvTo  one  who  will  molest  you." 

But  she  was  not  content  till  we  had  with- 
dra^vn  to  where  the  time-table  hung  up  on  the 
opposite  wall.  Turning  about  as  if  to  consult  it, 
she  told  the  following  story.  I  never  see  a  time- 
table now  but  I  think  of  her  expression  as  she 
stood  there  looking  up  as  if  her  mind  were  fixed 
on  what  she  probably  did  not  see  at  alL 

"Last  Wednesday — no,  it  was  on  the  Wed- 
nesday preceding — I  was  taking  a  ride  with 
Gwendolen  on  one  of  the  side  roads  branching 
off  toward  Eordham.  We  were  in  her  own  little 
pony  cart,  and  as  we  seldom  rode  together  like 
this,  she  had  been  chattering  about  a  hundred 
things  till  her  eyes  danced  in  her  head  and 
she  looked  as  lovely  as  I  had  ever  seen  her.  Bui 
suddenly,  just  as  we  were  about  to  cross  a  small 
wooden  bridge,  I  saw  her  turn  pale  and  her 

34 


"A  FEARSOME  MAN '' 

whole  sensitive  form  quiver.  'Some  one  I  don't 
like/  she  cried.  'There  is  some  one  about  whom 
I  don't  like.  Drive  on,  Ellie,  drive  on.'  But 
before  I  could  gather  up  the  reins  a  figure  which 
I  had  not  noticed  before  stepped  from  behind 
a  tree  at  the  farther  end  of  the  bridge,  and 
advancing  into  the  middle  of  the  road  with  arms 
thrown  out,  stopped  our  advance.  I  have  told 
you  how  he  looked,  but  I  can  give  you  no  idea 
of  the  passionate  fury  lighting  up  his  eyes,  or 
the  fiery  dignity  vrith  which  he  held  his  place 
and  kept  us  subdued  to  his  wdll  till  he  had 
looked  the  shrinking  child  all  over,  and  laughed, 
not  as  a  madman  laughs,  oh,  much  too  slow  and 
ironically  for  that  I  but  like  one  who  takes  an 
unholy  ple'asure  in  mocking  the  happy  present 
w^th  evil  prophecy.  Xothing  that  I  can  say  will 
make  you  see  him  as  I  saw  him  in  that  ©ne  in- 
stant, and  though  there  was  much  in  the  cir- 
cumstance to  cause  fear,  I  think  it  was  more 
awe  than  fright  we  felt,  so  commanding  was  his 
whole  appearance  and  so  forcible  the  assurance 
with  which  he  held  us  there  till  he  was  ready 
to  move.  Gwendolen  cried  out,  but  the  im- 
ploring sound  had  no  effect  upon  him;  it  only 
reawakened  his  mirth  and  led  him  to  say,  in 
35 


THE  MILLIOiSTAIRE  BABY 

a  clear,  cold,  mocking  tone  which  I  hear  yet, 
'Cry  out,  little  one,  for  your  short  day  is  nearly 
over.  Silks  and  feathers  and  carriages  and 
servants  will  soon  be  a  half-forgotten  memory 
to  you;  and  right  it  is  that  it  should  be  so. 
Ten  days,  little  one,  only  ten  days  more.'  And 
w^th  that  he  moved,  and,  slipping  aside  behind 
the  tree,  allowed  us  to  drive  on.  Mr.  Trevitt, 
yesterday  saw  the  end  of  those  ten  days,  and 
where  is  she  now  ?  Only  that  man  knows.  He 
is  one  man  in  a  thousand.  Can  not  you  find 
himT 

She  turned;  a  train  was  coming,  a  train 
which  it  was  very  evident  she  felt  it  her  duty 
to  take.  I  had  no  right  to  detain  her,  but  I 
found  time  for  a  question  or  two. 

"And  you  told  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  this  ?" 
"The  moment  we  arrived  home." 
"And  she?    What  did  she  think  of  it?" 
"Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  is  not  a  talkative  woman. 
She  grew  very  white  and  clasped  the  child  pas- 
sionately in  her  arms.    But  the  next  minute  she 
had  to  all  appearance  dismissed  the  whole  oc- 
currence from  her  thoughts.     'Some  socialistic 
fanatic,'  she"  called  him  and  merely  advised  me 
to  stop  driving  with  Gwendolen  for  the  present." 
36 


^^A  FEARSOME  MAN  " 

"Didn't  YOU  recall  the  matter  to  her  when 
you  found  the  child  missing?" 

"Yes;  but  then  she  appeared  to  regard  it  in 
a  superstitious  way  only.  It  was  a  warning  of 
death,  she  said,  and  the  man  an  irresponsible 
clairvoyant.  When  I  tried  to  urge  my  ovm 
idea  upon  her  and  describe  how  I  thought  he 
might  have  obtained  access  to  the  bungalow 
and  carried  her  ojff,  while  still  asleep,  to  some 
vehicle  awaiting  them  in  Mrs.  Carew's  grounds, 
she  only  re^Duked  me  for  my  folly  and  bade  me 
keep  still  about  the  whole  occurrence,  saying 
that  I  should  only  be  getting  some  poor  half- 
demented  old  wretch  into  trouble  for  some- 
thing for  which  he  was  not  in  the  least  respon- 
sible." 

"A  very  considerate  woman,"  I  remarked; 
to  which  Miss  Graham  made  reply  as  the  train 
came  storming  up ; 

"Xobody  knoAVS  how  considerate,  even  if  she 
has  dismissed  me  rather  suddenly  from  her 
service.  Don't  let  that  \\a'etch" — again  she  used 
the  word — "deceive  her  or  you  into  thinking 
that  the  little  one  perished  in  the  water.  Gwen- 
dolen is  alive,  I  say.  Find  him  and  you  will 
find  her.  I  sa^  his  resolution  in  his  eye." 
37 


^-    y 


THE  aiillio:n^aike  baby 

Here  she  made  a  rush  for  the  cars,  and  I 
had  time  only  to  get  her  future  address  before 
the  train  started  and  all  further  opportunity 
of  conversation  between  us  was  over  for  that 
day. 

I  remained  behind  because  I  was  by  no  means 
through  with  my  investigations.  What  she  had 
told  me  only  convinced  me  of  the  necessity  I 
had  already  recognized  of  making  myself  mas- 
ter of  all  that  could  be  learned  at  Homewood 
before  undertaking  the  very  serious  business 
of  locating  the  child  or  even  the  aged  man  just 
described-  to  me,  and  who  I  was  now  sure  had 
been  the  chief,  if  not  the  sole,  instrument  in 
her  abduction. 


98 


in 

A  CHAEMING  WOMAN 

Stopping  only  long  enough  to  send  a  tele- 
gram to  my  partner  in  New  York,  (for 
which  purpose  I  had  to  walk  along  the  tracks 
to  the  main  station)  I  returned  by  the  short 
cut  to  Homewood.  My  purpose  in  doing  this 
was  twofold.  I  should  have  a  chance  of  seeing 
if  the  men  were  still  at  work  in  the  river,  and 
I  should  also  have  the  added  opportunity  of 
quietly  revisiting  the  bungalow,  on  the  floor  of 
which  I  had  noted  some  chalk-marks,  which  I 
felt  called  for  a  closer  examination  than 
I  had  given  them.  As  I  came  in  view  of  the 
dock,  I  saw  that  the  men  were  still  busy,  but  at 
a  point  farther  out  in  the  river,  as  if  all  hope 
had  been  abandoned  of  their  discovering  any- 
thing more  inshore.  But  the  chalk-marks  in 
the  bungalow  were  almost  forgotten  by  me  in  the 
interest  I  experienced  in  a  certain  adventure 
which  befell  me  on  my  way  there. 

I  had  just  reached  the  opening  in  the  hedge 
39 


THE  millio:n^aire  baby 

communicating  with  Mrs.  Carew's  grounds, 
when  I  heard  steps  on  the  walk  inside  and  a 
woman's  rich  voice  saying: 

"There,  that  will  do.  You  must  play  on  the 
other  side  of  the  house,  Harry.  And  Dinah,  see 
that  he  does  so,  and  that  he  does  not  cross  the 
hall  again  till  I  come  back.  The  sight  of  so 
merry  a  child  might  kill  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  if 
she  happened  to  look  this  way." 

Moved  by  the  tone,  which  was  one  in  a  thou- 
sand, I  involuntarily  peered  through  the  outlet 
I  was  passing,  in  the  hope  of  catching  a  glimpse 
of  its  owner,  and  thus  was  favored  with  the 
sight  of  a  face  which  instantly  fixed  itself  in 
my  memory  as  one  of  the  most  enchanting  I 
had  ever  encountered.  ISTot  from  its  beauty,  yet 
it  may  have  been  beautiful ;  nor  from  its  youth, 
for  the  woman  before  me  was  not  youthful, 
but  from  the  extraordinary  eloquence  of  its 
expression  caught  at  a  rare  moment  when  the 
heart.,  which  gave  it  life,  was  full.  She  was 
standing  half-way  down  the  path,  throwing 
kisses  to  a  little  boy  who  was  leaning  toward 
her  from  an  upper  window.  The  child  was 
laughing  Tvdth  glee,  and  it  was  this  laugh  she 
was  trying  to  check;  but  her  countenanr^,  aa 
40 


A  CHARMI^^G  WO]\rAIs^ 

she  made  the  effort,  was  almost  as  merrv  as  his, 
and  vet  was  filled  with  such  solenm  joy — such 
ecstasy  of  motherhood  I  should  be  inclined  to 
call  it,  if  I  had  not  been  conscious  that  this  must 
be  Mrs.  Carew  and  the  child  her  little  nephew 
— that  in  my  admiration  for  this  exhibition  of 
pure  feeling,  I  forgot  to  move  on  as  she  ad- 
vanced into  the  hedge-row,  and  so  we  came  face 
to  face.  The  result  was  as  extraordinary  to 
me  as  all  the  rest.  Instantly  all  the  gay  aban- 
donment left  her  features,  and  she  showed  me 
a  grave,  almost  troubled,  countenance,  more  in 
keeping  with  her  severe  dress,  which  was  as 
nearly  like  mourning  as  it  could  be  and  not 
be  made  of  crape. 

It  was  such  a  sudden  change  and  of  so  com- 
plete a  character,  that  I  was  thrown  off  my 
STiard  for  a  moment  and  probably  betrayed  the 
curiosity  I  undoubtedly  felt;  for  she  paused  as 
she  reached  me.  and,  surveying  me  very  quietly 
but  very  scrutinizingly  too,  raised  again  that 
marvelous  voice  of  hers  and  pointedly  observed : 
^'This  is  a  private  path,  sir.  Only  the  friends 
of  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  or  of  myself  pass  here.'' 

This    was    a    s}>eech    calculated    to    restore 
my  self-possession.    With  a  bow  which  evidently 
41 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

surprised  her,  I  answered  with  just  enough  re- 
spect to  temper  my  apparent  presumption: 

^'I  am  here  in  the  interests  of  Mrs.  Ocum- 
paugh,  to  assist  her  in  finding  her  child.  Mo- 
ments are  precious;  so  I  ventured  to  approach 
by  the  shorter  way.'' 

^Tardon  me!"  The  words  did  not  come  in- 
stantly, but  after  some  hesitation,  during  which 
she  kept  her  eyes  on  my  face  in  a  way  to  rob 
me  of  all  thought  save  that  she  possessed  a  very 
strong  magnetic  quality,  to  which  it  were  well 
for  a  man  like  myseK  to  yield.  ^'You  will  be 
my  friend,  too,  if  you  succeed  in  restoring 
Gwendolen."  Then  quickly,  as  she  crossed  to 
the  Ocumpaugh  grounds :  "You  do  not  look  like 
a  member  of  the  police.  Are  you  here  at  Mrs. 
Ocumpaugh's  bidding,  and  has  she  at  last  given 
up  all  expectation  of  finding  her  child  in  the 
river  ?" 

I,  too,  thought  a  minute  before  answering, 
then  I  put  on  my  most  candid  expression,  for 
was  not  this  woman  on  her  way  to  Mi-s.  Ocum- 
paugh, and  would  she  not  be  likely  to  repeat 
what  she  heard  me  say  ? 

"I  do  not  know  how  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  feels 
at  present     But  I  know  what  her  dearest  wish 
42 


A  CHARMING  WOMAN 

is — to  see  her  cliild  again  alive  and  well.     That 
wish  I  shall  do  my  best  to  gratify.     It  is  true 
that  I  am  not  a  police  detective,  but  I  have  an 
agency  of  my  own,  well-known  to  both  Mrs.  and 
Mr.  Ocumpaugh.     All  its  resources  will  be  de- 
voted to  this  business  and  I  hope  to  succeed, 
madam.     If,  as  I  suspect,  you  are  on  your  way 
to  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,  please  tell  her  that  Eobert 
Trevitt,  of  Trevitt  and  Jupp,  hopes  to  succeed.'^ 
"I  will/'   she  emphasized.      Then    stepping 
back  to  me  in   all  the  grace  of  her  thrilling 
personality,  she  eagerly  added:  ''If  there  is  any 
information  I  can  give,  do  not  be  afraid  to  ask 
me.     I  love  children,  and  would  give  anything 
in  the  world  to  see  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  as  happy 
with  Gwendolen  again  as  I  am  with  my  little 
nephew.     Are  you  quite  sure  that  there  is  any 
possibility  of  this?    I  was  told  that  the  child's 
shoe  has  been  found  in  the  river;  but  almost 
immediately  following  this   information   came 
the  report  that  there  was  something  odd  about 
this  shoe,  and  that  Mi's.  Ocumpaugh  had  gone 
into  hysterics.     Do  you  know  what  they  meant 
by  that  ?    I  was  just  going  over  to  see." 

I  did  know  what  they  meant,  but  I  preferred 
to  seem  ignorant. 

43 


THE  MILLION AIEE  BAEY 

"I  have  not  seen  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,"  I  eva- 
sively rejoined.  ^'But  I  don't  look  for  the  child 
to  be  drawn  from  the  water." 

*'Xor  I/''  she  repeated,  with  a  hoarse  catch 
in  her  breath.  "It  is  thirty-six  hours  since  we 
lost  her.  Time  enough  for  the  current  to  have 
carried  her  sweet  little  body  far  away  from 
here/*' 

I  surveyed  the  lady  before  me  in  amazement 

"Then  you  think  she  strayed  down  to  the 
water  V 

"Yes;  it  would  madden  me  to  believe  other- 
wise; loving  her  so  well,  and  her  parents  so 
well,  I  dare  not  think  of  a  worse  fate.'' 

Taking  advantage  of  her  amiability  and  the 
unexpected  opportunity  it  offered  for  a  leading 
question,  I  hereupon  ventured  to  say:  ^^You 
were  not  at  home,  I  hear,  when  she  vanished 
from  the  bungalow." 

"]^o;  that  is,  if  it  happened  before  three 
o'clock.  I  arrived  from  the  station  just  as  the 
clock  was  striking  the  hour,  and  having  my  little 
nephew  vdth  me,  I  was  too  much  occupied  in 
reconciling  him  to  his  new  home,  to  hear  or 
see  anything  outside.  ]\Iost  unfortunate  I"  she 
mourned,  "most  unfortunate !  I  shall  never  cease 
44 


A  CHAKMmG  woma:n" 

reproaching  myself.  A  tragedy  at  my  dooi'''— 
here  slie  glanced  across  tlie  shrubbery  at  the 
bungalow— "and  I  occupied  with  my  own  af- 
fairs!'' 

With  a  flush,  the  undoubted  result  of  her  ovai 
earnestness,  she  turned  as  if  to  go.  But  I  could 
not  let  her  depart  without  another  question : 

''Excuse  me,  'Mrs.  Carew,  but  you  gave  me 
permission  to  seem  importunate.  With  tlie  ex- 
ception of  her  nurse,  you  were  the  one  person 
nearest  tlie  bungalow  at  the  time.  Didn't  you 
hear  a  carriage  drive  through  your  grounds  at 
about  the  hour  the  alarm  was  first  started  ?  I 
know  you  have  been  asked  this  before,  but  not 
by  me ;  and  it  is  a  very  important  fact  U)  have 
settled:  very  important  for  those  who  wish  to 
discover  this  child  at  once." 

For  reply  she  gave  me  a  look  of  veiy  honest 
amazement 

''Of  course  I  did,"  she  replied.  "I  came  in 
a  cai*riage  myself  from  the  station  and  nat- 
urally heard  it  drive  away." 

At  her  look,  at  her  word,  the  thread  which  I 

had  seized  with   such   avidity   seemed  to  slip 

from  my   nngei-s.      Had  little  Miss   Graham's 

theory   no   better   foundation   than    this?    and 

45 


THE  MILLIO:^AIRE  BABY 

were  the  wheels  she  heard  only  those  of  Mrs. 
Carew^s  departing  carriage  ?  I  resolved  to  press 
the  matter  even  if  I  ran  the  risk  of  displeasing 
her. 

"Mrs.  Carew — for  it  must  be  Mrs.  Carew 
I  am  addressing — did  your  little  nephew  cry 
when  you  first  brought  him  to  the  house  ?" 

''I  think  he  did,"  she  admitted  slowly;  "I 
think  he  did." 

I  must  have  given  evidence  of  the  sudden 
discouragement  this  brought  me,  for  her  lips 
parted  and  her  whole  frame  trembled  with  sud- 
den earnestness. 

^*Did  you  think — did  any  one  think — that 
those  cries  came  from  Gwendolen  ?  That  she 
was  carried  out  through  my  grounds  ?  Could 
any  one  have  thought  that?" 

'T!  have  been  told  that  the  nursery-governess 
did." 

"Little  Miss  Graham  ?  Poor  girl !  she  is  but 
defending  herself  from  despair.  She  is  ready  to 
believe  everything  but  that  the  child  is  dead." 

Was  it  so  ?  Was  I  following  the  false  light  of 
a  will-o'-the-wisp?  Iso,  no;  the  strange  co- 
incidence of  the  threat  made  on  the  bridge 
with  the  disappearance  of  the  child  on  the  day 
46 


A  CHARMING  WOMAN 

named,  was  at  least  real.  Tlie  thread  liad  not 
altogether  escaped  from  my  hands.  It  was  less 
tangible,  but  it  was  still  there. 

"You  may  be  right/'  I  acquiesced,  for  I  saw 
that  her  theories  were  entirely  opposed  to  those 
of  Miss  Graham.  "But  we  must  try  everything, 
everythijig/' 

I  was  about  to  ask  whether  she  had  ever  seen 
in  the  adjoining  grounds,  or  on  the  roads  about, 
an  old  man  with  long  hair  and  a  remarkable 
scar  running  do^vn  between  his  eyebrows,  when 
a  young  girl  in  the  cap  and  apron  of  a  maid- 
servant came  running  through  the  shrubbery 
from  the  Ocumpaugh  house,  and,  seeing  Mrs. 
Carew,  panted  out: 

"Oh,  do  come  over  to  the  house,  Mrs.  Carew. 
Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  has  been  told  that  the  two 
shoes  which  have  been  found,  one  on  the  bank 
and  the  other  in  the  river,  are  not  mates,  and 
it  has  quite  distracted  her.  She  has  gone  to  her 
room  and  will  let  no  one  else  in.  We  can  hear 
her  moaning  and  crying,  but  we  can  do  nothing. 
Perhaps  she  will  see  you.  She  called  for  you, 
I  know,  before  she  shut  her  door.'' 

"I  will  go."  Mrs.  Carew  had  turned  quite 
pale,  and  from  standing  upright  in  the  road, 

47 


THE  MILLIOXAIEE  BABY 

Lad  moved  so  as  to  gain  support  from  one 
of  the  hedges. 

I  expected  to  see  her  turn  and  go  as  soon  as 
her  trembling  fit  was  over,  but  she  did  not, 
though  she  waved  the  girl  away  as  if  she  in- 
tended to  follow  her.  Had  I  not  learned  to  dis- 
trust my  o^\TL  impression  of  people's  motives 
from  their  manners  and  conduct,  I  should  have 
said  that  she  was  waiting  for  me  to  precede  her. 

"Two  shoes  and  not  mates!"  she  finally  ex- 
claimed.    "What  does  she  mean  ?" 

"Simply  that  another  shoe  has  been  drawTi 
up  from  the  river-bottom  which  does  not  mate 
the  one  picked  up  near  the  bungalow.  Both 
are  for  the  left  foot." 

"Ah !"  gasped  this  sympathetic  woman.  "And 
what  inference  can  we  draw  from  tliat  ?" 

I  should  not  have  answered  her;  but  the 
command  in  her  eyes  or  the  thrilling  effect  of 
her  manner  compelled  me,  and  I  spoke  the  truth 
at  once,  just  as  I  might  have  done  to  Mrs. 
Ocumpaugh,  or,  better  still,  to  Mr.  Ocumpaugh, 
if  either  had  insisted. 

"But  one,"  said  I.  "There  is  a  conspiracy 
on  the  part  of  one  or  more  persons  to  delude 
Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  into  believing  the  child  dead. 
48 


A  CHAE^jixG  woma:; 

They  blundered  over  it,   but   thev  cr.me  very 
near  sncceedinir."' 

''Who  blundered,  and  Avhat  is  the  meaning  of 
the  conspiracy  you  hint  at  ?  Tell  me.  Tell  me 
Trhat  such  men  as  you  thini." 

Her  plastic  features  had  again  sho^^m  a 
change.  She  Tvas  all  anxiety  no^;  cheeks  burn- 
ing, eyes  blazing— a  very  beautiful  woman. 

''We  think  that  the  case  looks  serious.  We 
think  from  the  veiy  mystery  it  displays,  that 
there  is  a  keen  intelligence  back  of  this  crime. 
I  can  not  go  any  further  than  that  The  af- 
fair is  as  yet  too  obscure." 

"You  amaze  me!"  she  faltered,  making  an 
effort  to  collect  her  thoughts.  "1  have  always 
thought,  just  as  Mi-s.  Ocumpaugh  has,  tliat  the 
child  had  somehow  found  her  way  to  the  water 
and  was  drowned.  But  if  all  this  is  true  we 
shall  have  to  face  a  worse  evil.  A  conspiracy 
against  such  a  tender  little  being  as  that !  A 
conspiracy,  and  for  what  ?  Xot  to  extort  money, 
or  why  these  blimdering  efforts  to  make  the  child 
appear  dead  ?" 

She  was  the  same  sympathetic  woman,  agi- 
tated by  real  feeling  as  before,  yet  at  this  mo- 
ment— I  do  not  understand  now  just  why I 

49 


THE  MILLIOXAIEE  BABY 

became  aware  of  an  inner  movement  of  caution 
against  too  great  a  display  of  candor  on  mj  ovm 
part 

"Madam,  it  is  all  a  mystery  at  present.  I 
am  sure  tliat  the  police  ^^dll  tell  you  the  same. 
But  another  day  may  bring  developments." 

"Let  us  hope  so!"  Vas  her  ardent  reply, 
accompanied  by  a  gesture,  the  freedom  of  which 
suited  her  style  and  person  as  it  would  not  have 
done  those  of  a  less  impressionable  woman.  And, 
seeing  that  I  had  no  intention  of  leaving  the 
spot  where  I  stood,  she  moved  at  last  from 
where  she  held  herself  upright  against  the 
hedge,  and  entered  the  Ocumpaugh  grounds. 
"Will  you  call  in  to  see  me  to-morrow?"  she 
asked,  pausing  to  look  back  at  a  turn  in  the 
path.  '^I  shall  not  sleep  to-night  for  thinking 
of  those  possible  developments." 

"Since  you  permit  me,"  I  returned ;  "that  is, 
if  I  am  still  here.  Affairs  may  call  me  away  at 
any  moment." 

"Yes,  and  so  with  me.  Affairs  may  call  me 
away  also.  I  was  to  sail  on  Saturday  for 
Liverpool.  Only  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's  distress  de- 
tains me.  If  the  situation  lightens,  if  we  hear 
any  good  news  to-night,  or  even  early  to-morrow, 
60 


A  CHARMING  WOMAN 

I  shall  continue  my  preparations,  whicb  will 
take  me  again  to  Xew  York.'' 
"I  will  call  if  you  are  at  home.'' 
She  gave  me  a  slight  nod  and  vanished. 
Why  did  I  stand  a  good  tliree  minutes  where 
she  had  left  me,  thinking,  but  not  getting  any- 
thing from  my  thoughts,  save  that  I  was  glad 
that  I  had  not  been  betrayed  into  speaking  of 
the   old   man   Miss    Graham   had   met   on   the 
bridge  ?    Yet  it  might  have  been  well,  after  all, 
if  I  had  done  so,  if  only  to  discover  whether 
Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  had  confided  this  occurrence 
to  her  most  intimate  friend. 


51 


IV 

CHALK-MAEKS 

My  next  move  was  toward  the  bungalow. 
Those  chalk-marks  still  struck  me  as  be- 
ing worthy  of  investigation,  and  not  only  they, 
but  the  bungalow  itself.  That  certainly  merited 
a  much  closer  inspection  than  I  had  been  able 
to  give  it  under  Miss  Graham's  eye. 

It  was  not  quite  a  new  place  to  me,  nor  was 
I  so  ignorant  of  its  history  (and  it  had  a  his- 
tory) as  I  had  appeared  to  be  in  my  conversa- 
tion with  Miss  Graham.  Originally  it  had  been 
a  stabling  place  for  horses;  and  tradition  said 
that  it  had  once  harbored  for  a  week  the  horse 
of  General  Washington.  This  was  VN'hen  the 
house  on  the  knoll  above  had  been  the  seat  oud 
home  of  one  of  our  most  famous  Eevoluti  on  a  ry 
generals.  Later,  as  the  trees  grew  up  aroiuid 
this  building,  it  attracted  the  attention  of  a 
new  owner,  William  Ocumpaugh,  the  first  of 
that  name  to  inhabit  Homewood,  and  he,  be- 
ing a  man  of  reserved  manners  and  very  stu- 
52 


CHALK-MAEKS 

dious  liabits,  turned  it  into  T:hat  we  would 
now  call,  as  Miss  Graham  did,  a  den,  but 
which  he  styled  a  pavilion,  and  used  as  a  sort 
of  study  or  reading-room. 

His  son,  who  inherited  it,  Judge  Philo 
Ocujupaugh,  grandfather  of  the  present  Philo, 
was  as  studious  as  his  father,  but  preferred  to 
read  and  write  in  the  quaint  old  library  up 
at  the  house,  famous  for  its  wide  glass  doors 
opening  on  to  the  lawn,  and  its  magnificent 
view  of  the  Hudson.  His  desk,  which  many 
remember  (it  has  a  place  in  the  present  house, 
I  believe),  was  so  located  that  for  forty  years 
or  more  he  had  this  prospect  ever  before  him, 
a  prospect  which  included  the  sight  of  his  own. 
pavilion,  around  which,  for  no  cause  appar- 
ent to  his  contemporaries,  he  had  caused  a 
high  wall  to  be  built,  effectually  shutting  in 
both  trees  and  building. 

This  wall  has  since  been  removed;  but  I 
have  often  heard  it  spoken  of,  and  always 
with  a  certain  air  of  mystery;  possibly  be- 
cause, as  I  have  said,  there  seemed  no  good 
reason  for  its  erection,  the  place  holding  no 
treasure  and  the  gate  standing  always  open; 
possibly  because  of  its  having  been  painted, 
63 


THE  MILLIOXAIEE  BABY 

in  defiance  of  all  harmony  with  everything 
about  the  place,  a  dazzling  white;  and  possi- 
bly because  it  had  not  been  raised  till  after 
the  death  of  the  judge's  first  ^vife,  who,  some 
have  said,  breathed  her  last  within  the  pre- 
cincts it  inclosed. 

However  that  may  be,  there  seems  to  be  no 
doubt  that  this  place  exerted,  very  likely 
against  his  will,  for  he  never  visited  it,  a 
singular  fascination  over  the  secretive  mind 
of  this  same  upright  but  strangely  taciturn 
ancestor  of  the  Ocumpaughs.  For  during  the 
forty  years  in  which  he  wrote  and  read  at 
this  desk,  the  shutters  guarding  the  door  over- 
looking those  decaying  walls  were  never  d^a^'.'n 
to,  or  so  the  tradition  runs;  and  when  he 
died,  it  was  found  that,  by  a  clause  in  his 
will,  this  pavilion,  hut  or  bungalow,  all  of 
which  names  it  bore  at  different  stages  of  its 
existence,  was  recommended  to  the  notice  of 
his  heirs  as  an  object  which  they  were  at  lib- 
erty to  leave  in  its  present  forsaken  condition, 
though  he  did  not  exact  this,  but  which  waa 
never,  under  any  circumstances  or  to  serve  any 
purpose,  to  be  removed  from  its  present  site, 
or  even  to  suffer  any  demolition  save  such  as 
54 


CHALK-MARKS 

came  with  time  and  the  natural  round  of  the 
seasons,  to  whose  tender  mercies  he  advised 
it  to  be  left.  In  other  words,  it  was  to  stand, 
and  to  stand  unmolested,  till  it  fell  of  its  o\^tl 
accord,  or  was  struck  to  the  earth  by  light- 
ning— a  tragic  alternative  in  the  judgment 
of  those  who  knew  it  for  a  structure  of  com- 
parative insignificance,  and  one  which,  in  the 
minds  of  many,  and  perhaps  I  may  say  in  my 
own,  appeared  to  point  to  some  serious  and 
unrevealed  cause  not  unlinked  with  the  almost 
forgotten  death  of  that  young  wife  to  which 
I  have  just  alluded. 

This  was  years  ago,  far  back  in  the  fifties, 
and  his  son,  who  was  a  minor  at  his  death, 
grew  up  and  assumed  his  natural  proprietor- 
ship. The  hut — it  was  nothing  but  a  hut  now 
— ^had  remained  untouched — a  ruin  no  longer 
habitable.  The  spirit,  as  well  as  the  letter,  of 
that  particular  clause  in  his  father's  will  had 
so  far  been  literally  obeyed.  Tlie  walls  being 
of  stone,  had  withstood  decay,  and  still  rose 
straight  and  firm;  but  the  roof  had  begun  to 
sag,  and  whatever  of  woodwork  yet  remained 
about  it  had  rotted  and  fallen  away,  till  the 
building  was  little  more  than  a  skeleton,  with 
55 


THE  MILLIO:XAIKE  BABY 

hales  for  its  windows  and  an  open  gap  foi-  ita 
door. 

As  for  the  surrounding  wall,  it  no  longer 
stood  out,  an  incongruous  landmark,  from  its 
background  of  trees  and  shrubbery.  Young 
shoots  had  started  up  and  old  branches  devel- 
oped till  brick  and  paint  alike  were  almost 
concealed  from  view  by  a  fresh  girdle  of 
gi^eenery. 

And  now  comes  the  second  mystery. 

Sometime  after  this  latter  Ocumpaugh  had 
attained  his  majority — his  name  was  Edwin, 
and  he  was,  as  you  already  imagine,  the  fa- 
ther of  the  present  Philo — he  made  an  at- 
tempt;— a  daring  one  it  was  aftervsard  called 
— to  brighten  this  neglected  spot  and  restore 
it  to  some  sort,  of  use,  by  giving  a  supper  to 
his  friends  wdthin  its  broken-down  w^alls. 

This  supper  was  no  orgy,  nor  were  the  pro- 
prieties in  any  way  transgTcssed  by  so  hanr- 
less  a  festivity;  yet  from  this  night  a  singnihr 
change  was  observed  in  this  man.  Pleasure 
no  longer  chanmed  him,  and  instead  of  repeat- 
ing the  experiment  I  have  just  described,  he 
speedily  evinced  such  an  antipathy  to  the  scene 
of  his  late  revel  that  only  from  the  greatest 
56 


tm 


CHALK-MAKKS 

necessity  would  he  ever  again  visit  that  pan 
of  the  grounds. 

What  did  it  mean  ?  ^Vhat  had  occurred  on 
that  night  of  innocent  enjoyment  to  disturb  or 
alarm  him  ?  Had  some  note  in  his  own  con- 
science been  struck  by  an  act  which,  in  his 
cooler  moments,  he  may  have  looked  upon  as 
a  species  of  sacrilege?  Or  had  some  whisper 
from  the  past  reached  him  amid  the  feasting, 
the  laughing  and  the  jesting,  to  render  these 
old  walls  henceforth  intolerable  to  him?  He 
never  said,  but  whatever  the  cause  of  this  sud- 
den aversion,  the  effect  was  deep  and  promised 
to  be  lasting.  For,  one  morning,  not  long 
after  this  event,  a  party  of  workmen  was  seen 
leaving  these  gTounds  at  daybreak,  and  soon 
it  was  noised  about  that  a  massive  brick  par- 
tition had  been  put  up  across  the  interior  of 
this  same  pavilion,  completely  shutting  off,  for 
no  reason  that  any  one  could  see,  some  ten 
feet  of  what  had  been  one  long  and  undivided 
room. 

It  was  a  strange  act  enough;  but  when,  a 

few  days  later,  it  w^as  followed  by  one  equally 

mysterious,   and  they  saw  the  encircling  wall 

which  had  been  so  carefully  raised  by  Judge 

67 


THE  MILLION AIK£  BABY 

Octunpaugli  ruthlessly  pulled  down,  and  every 
sign  of  its  former  presence  there  destroyed, 
wonder  filled  the  highway  and  the  curiosity 
of  neighbors  and  friends  passed  all  bounds. 

But  no  explanations  were  volunteered  then 
or  ever.  People  might  query  and  peer,  but 
they  learned  nothing.  What  was  left  open 
to  view  told  no  tales  beyond  the  old  one,  and 
as  for  the  single  window  which  was  the  sole 
opening  into  the  shut-off  space,  it  was  then, 
as  now,  so  completely  blocked  up  by  a  net- 
work of  closely  impacted  vines,  that  it  of- 
fered little  more  encouragement  than  the 
wall  itself  to  the  eyes  of  such  curiosity- 
mongers  as  crept  in  by  way  of  the  hedge-rowa 
to  steal  a  look  at  the  hut,  and  if  possible  gain  a 
glimpse  of  an  interior  which  had  suddenly  ac- 
quired, by  the  very  means  taken  to  shut  it  off 
from  every  human  eye,  a  new  importance  point- 
ing very  decidedly  toward  the  tragic. 

But  soon  even  this  semblance  of  interest  died 
out  or  was  confined  to  strange  tales  whispered 
under  breath  on  weird  nights  at  neighboring 
firesides,  and  the  old  neglect  prevailed  once 
mora  The  whole  place — new  brick  and  old 
stone — seemed  doomed  to  a  common  fate  under 
58 


CHALK-MAKKS 

the  hand  of  time,  when  the  present  Philo  Ocum- 
pangh,  succeeding  to  the  property,  brought  new 
wealth  and  business  enterprise  into  the  family, 
and  the  old  house  on  the  hill  was  replaced  hy 
the  marble  turrets  of  Homewood,  and  this  hut— 
or  rather  the  portion  open  to  improvementr— 
was  restored  to  some  sort  of  comfort,  and  re- 
christened  the  bungalow. 

TVas  fate  to  be  appeased  by  this  effort  at  for- 
getfulness?  Xo.  In  emulation  of  the  long 
abandoned  portion  so  hopelessly  cut  off  by  that 
dividing  wall,  this  brightly-furnished  adjunct 
to  the  great  house  had  linked  itself  in  the  minds 
of  men  to  a  new  mystery— the  mystery  which  I 
had  come  there  to  solve,  if  wit  and  patience 
could  do  it,  aided  by  my  supposedly  unshared 
knowledge  of  a  fact  connecting  me  with  this 
family's  history  in  a  way  it    little    dreamed 

of. 

]N^aturally,  my  first  look  was  at  the  building 
itself.  I  have  described  its  location  and  the 
room  from  which  the  child  was  lost  Wbat  I 
wanted  to  see  now,  after  studying  those  chalk- 
marks,  was  whether  that  partition  which  had 
been  put  in,  was  as  impassable  as  was  supposed. 

The  policeman  on  guard  baving  strolled  a  few 
59 


THE  MILLIO]S"AIKE  BABY 

feet  away,  I  approached  the  open  doorway  with* 
out  hindrance,  and  at  once  took  that  close  look 
I  had  promised  myself,  of  the  marks  which  I 
had  observed  scrawled  broadly  across  the  floor 
just  inside  the  threshold.  They  were  as  interest- 
ing and  fully  as  important  as  I  had  anticipated. 
Though  nearly  obliterated  by  the  passing  of  the 
policeman's  feet  across  them,  I  was  still  enabled 
to  read  the  one  w^ord  which  appeared  to  me 
significant 

If  you  TV-ill  glance  at  the  following  reproduc- 
tion of  a  snap-shot  which  I  took  of  this  scrawl, 
you  will  see  what  I  mean. 

^(/5l^    /G      /-^ 

The  significant  character  was  the  16.  Taken 
with  the  "ust,"  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  the 
whole  writing  had  been  a  record  of  the  date  on 
which  the  child  had  disappeared:  August  16, 
190—. 

This  in  itself  was  of  small  consequence  if 

the  handwriting  had  not  possessed  those  marked 

peculiarities  which  I  believed  belonged  to  but 

on?  man — a  man  I  had  once  known — a  man  of 

^0 


CHALK-MAKKS 

reverend  aspect,  upright  carriage  and  a  strong 
distinguishing  mark,  like  an  old-time  scar,  run- 
ning straight  down  between  his  eyebrows.  This 
had  been  mj  thought  when  I  first  saw  it  It 
was  doubly  so  on  seeing  it  again  after  the  doubts 
expressed  by  Miss  Graham  of  a  threatening  old 
man  who  possessed  similar  characteristics. 

Satisfied  on  this  point,  I  turned  my  atten- 
tion to  what  still  more  seriously  occupied  it  The 
three  or  four  long  rugs,  which  hung  from  the 
ceiling  across  the  whole  wall  at  my  left,  evi- 
dently c^'ucealed  the  mysterious  partition  put 
up  in  Mr.  Ocumpaugh's  father's  time  directly 
across  this  portion  of  the  room.  Was  it  a  totally 
unbroken  partition  \  I  had  been  told  so ;  but  I 
never  accept  such  assertions  without  a  personal 
investigation. 

Casting  a  glance  through  the  doorway  and 
seeing  that  it  would  take  my  dreaming  friend, 
the  policeman,  some  two  or  three  minutes  yet  to 
find  his  way  back  to  his  post,  I  hastily  lifted 
these  rugs  aside,  one  after  the  other,  and  took 
a  look  behind  them.  A  stretch  of  Georgia  pine, 
laid,  as  I  readily  discovered  by  more  than  one 
rap  of  my  knuckles,  directly  over  the  bricks  it 
was  intended  to  conceal,  was  visible  under  each ; 
61 


THE  MILLION-AIRE  BABY 

from  end  to  end  a  plain  partition  with  no  in- 
dications of  its  having  been  tampered  with  since 
the  alterations  were  first  made. 

Dismissing  from  my  mind  one  of  those  vague 
possibilities,  which  add  such  interest  to  the  call- 
ing of  a  detective,  I  left  the  place,  with  my  full 
thought  concentrated  on  the  definite  clue  I  had 
received  from  the  chalk-marks. 

But  I  had  not  walked  far  before  I  met  with 
a  surprise  which  possibly  possessed  a  signifi- 
cance equal  to  anything  I  had  already  observed, 
if  only  I  could  have  fully  understood  it 

On  the  path  into  which  I  now  entered,  I  en- 
countered again  the  figaire  of  Mrs.  Carew.  Her 
face  was  turned  full  on  mine,  and  she  had  evi- 
dently retraced  her  steps  to  have  another  in- 
stant's conversation  with  me.  The  next  moment 
I  was  sure  of  this.  Her  eyes,  alway-  magnetic, 
shone  with  increasing  brightness  as  I  advanced 
to  meet  her,  and  her  manner,  Avhile  grave,  was 
that  of  a  woman  quite  conscious  of  the  effect  she 
produced  by  her  least  word  or  action. 

"I  have  returned  to  tell  you,"  said  she,  "that 

I  have  more  confidence  in  your  efforts  than  in 

those  of  the  police  officers  around  here.        Tf 

Gwendolen's  fate  is  deteiTained  by  any  one  it 

62 


CHALK-MAKKS 

will  be  by  you.  So  I  want  to  be  of  aid  to  you 
if  I  can.  Remember  that.  I  may  have  said 
this  to  you  before,  but  I  wish  to  impress  it  upon 

you." 

There  was  a  flutter  in  her  movements  which 
astonished  me.  She  was  surveying  me  in  a 
etraightfor^'ard  way,  and  I  could  not  but  feel 
the  fire  and  force  of  her  look.  Happily  she  was 
no  longer  a  young  woman  or  I  might  have  mis- 
understood the  disturbance  which  took  place  in 
my  own  breast  as  I  waited  for  the  musical  tones 
to  cease. 

"You  are  very  good/'  I  rejoined.  "I  need 
help,  and  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  receive  your 
assistance." 

Yet  I  did  question  her,  though  I  presently 
found  myself  walking  toward  the  house  at  her 
side.  She  may  not  have  expected  me  to  pre- 
sume so  far.  Certainly  she  showed  no  dissatis- 
faction when,  at  a  parting  in  the  path,  I  took 
my  leave  of  her  and  turned  my  face  in  the 
direction  of  the  gates.  A  strange  sweet  woman, 
with  a  power  quite  apart  from  the  physical 
charms  which  usually  affect  men  of  my  age, 
but  one  not  easily  read  nor  parted  from  unless 
one  had  an  imperative  errand,  as  I  had. 

03 


THE  MILLIQXAIEE  BABY 

TLds  errajid  was  to  meet  and  forestall  the 
messenger   boy   whom    I    momently    expected 
with  the  answer  to  my  telegram.     That  an  op- 
portunity for  gossip  was  likewise  afforded  by 
the  motley  group  of  men  and  boys  drawn  up 
near  one  of  the  gate-posts,  gave  an  added  in- 
terest to  the  event  which  I  was  quite  ready  to 
appreciate.     Approaching  this  group,  I  assimi- 
lated myself  ^vith  it  as  speedily  as  possible,  and, 
having  some  tact  for  this  sort  of  thing,  soon 
found  myself  the  recipient  of  various  gratuitous 
opinions  as  to  the  significance  of  the  find  which 
had  offered  such  a  problem  both  to  the  profes- 
sional and  unprofessional  detective.     Two  mis^ 
mated  shoes!     Had  Gwendolen  Ocumpaugh  by 
any  chance  worn  such  ?    Xo — or  the  ones  mat- 
ing  them  would  have  been  found  in  her  closet, 
and  this,  some  one  shouted  out>  had  not  been 
done.    Only  the  one  corresponding  to  that  fished 
up  from  the  waters  of  the  dock  had  come  to 
light;  the  other,  the  one  which  the  child  must 
really  have  worn,  was  no  nearer  being  found 
than  the  child  herself.     What  did  it  all  mean  ? 
Xo  one  knew;  but  all  attempted  some  sort  of 
hazardous  guess  which  I  was  happy  to  see  fell 
entirely  short  of  the  mark. 

64 


CHALK-i^iARKS 

There  was  not  a  word  of  the  vindictive  old 
man  described  by  Miss  Graham,  till  I  myself 
introduced  the  topic.  My  reason  or  rather  my 
excuse  for  introducing  it  was  this : 

On  the  gata-post  near  me  I  had  observ^ed  the 
remnants  of  a  strip  of  paper  which  had  been 
pasted  there  and  aftenvard  imperfectly  torn  off. 
It  had  an  unsightly  look,  but  I  did  not  pay  much 
attention  to  it  till  some  movement  in  the  group 
forced  me  a  little  nearer  to  the  post,  when  I  was 
surprised  enough  to  see  that  this  scrap  of  paper 
showed  signs  of  words,  and  that  these  words 
gave  evidence  of  being  a  date  written  in  the  very 
hand  I  now  had  no  difficulty  in  recognizing  as 
that  of  the  old  man  uppeimost  in  my  own  mind, 
even  if  he  were  not  the  one  whom  Miss  Graham 
had  seen  on  the  bridge.  This  date — strange  to 
say — was  the  same  significant  one  already  noted 
on  the  floor  of  the  bungalow — a  fact  which  I  felt 
merited  an  explanation  if  any  one  about  me 
could  give  it 

Waiting,  therefore,  for  a  lull  in  the  remarks 
passing  between  the  stable-men  and  other  em- 
ployees about  the  place,  I  drew  the  attention  of 
the  first  man  who  would  listen,  to  the  half  tom- 
off  strip  of  paper  on  the  post,  and  asked  if  that 
66 


THE  MILLiOiXAIEE  BABY 

was  tlie  way  the  Ocumpauglis  gave  notice  of 
their  entertainments. 
-  He  started,  then  turned  his  back  on  me. 
"That  wasn't  put  there  for  the  entertain- 
ment," lie  growled;  ''that  was  pasted  up  there 
by  some  one  who  wanted  to  show  off  his  writin'. 
There  don't  seem  to  be  no  other  reason." 

As  the  man  who  spoke  these  words  had  there- 
by proved  himself  a  blockhead,  I  edged  away 
from  him  as  soon  as  possible  toward  a  very  de- 
cent looking  fellow  who  appeared  to  have  moro 
brains  than  speech. 

"Do  you  know  who  pasted  that  date  upon  the 
post  ?"  I  inquired. 

He  answered  very  directly. 
"^o,  or  I  should  have  been  laying  for  hira 
long  before  this.  Why,  it  is  not  only  there  you 
can  see  it.  I  found  it  pinned  to  the  carriage 
cushions  one  day  just  as  I  w^as  going  to  drive 
Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  out."  (Evidently  I  had  struck 
upon  the  coachman.)  "And  not  only  that.  One 
of  the  girls  up  at  the  house — one  as  I  knows 
pretty  well — tells  me — I  don't  care  who  hears  it 
now — that  it  was  written  across  a  card  which 
was  left  at  the  door  for  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,  and 
all  in  the  same  handwriting,  which  is  not  a  oom- 
66 


CHALK-MARKS 

mon  one,  as  you  can  see.  This  means  some- 
thing,  seeing  it  was  the  date  when  our  bad  luck 
fell  ou  us." 

He  had  noted  that. 

'-'You  don't  mean  to  say  that  these  things  were 
written  and  put  about  before  the  date  you  see  on 
them." 

''But  I  do.  Would  we  have  noticed  since? 
But  who  are  you,  sir,  if  I  may  ask?  One  of 
them  detective  fellows  ?  If  so,  I  have  a  word  to 
say :  Find  that  child  or  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's  blood 
will  be  on  your  head !  She'll  not  live  till  Mr. 
Ocumpaugh  comes  home  unless  she  can  show 
him  his  child." 

''Wait!"  I  called  out,  for  he  was  turning 
away  toward  the  stable.  "You  know  who  wrote 
those  slips  ?" 

"Xot  a  bit  of  it,    Xo  one  does.    Xot  that  any- 
body thinks  much  about  them  but  me." 
"The  police  must,"  I  ventured, 
'aiay  be,  but  they  don't  say  anything  about 
it.     Somehow  it  looks  to  me  as  if  they  were  all 
at  sea." 

"Possibly  they  are,"  I  remarked,  letting  him 
go  as  I  caught  sight  of  a  small  boy  coming  up 
the  road  witli  several  telegrams  in  his  hand. 
6T 


THE  MILLIO:^TAIRE  BABY 

^^Is  one  of  those  directed  to  Robert  Trevitt  ?" 
I  asked,  crowding  up  witli  the  rest,  as  his  small 
form  was  allowed  to  slip  through  the  gate. 

"Specks  there  is/^  he  replied,  looking  them 
over  and  handing  me  one. 

I  carried  it  to  one  side  and  hastily  tore  it 
open.  It  was,  as  I  expected,  from  my  partner, 
and  read  as  follows : 

Man  you  want  has  just  returned  after  two 
days'  absence.  Am  on  watch.  Saw  him  just 
alight  from  buggy  with  what  looked  like  sleep- 
ing child  in  his  amLS.  Closed  and  fastened 
front  door  after  him.     Safe  for  to-night. 

Did  I  allow  my  triumph  to  betray  itself  ?  I 
do  not  think  so.  The  question  which  kept  down 
my  elation  was  this:  Would  I  be  the  first  man 
to  get  tilers? 


68f 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  IN  TOSTXERS 

The  old  man  whose  handwriting  I  had  now 
positively  identified  was  a  former  employer 
of  mine.  I  had  worked  in  his  office  when 
a  lad.  He  was  a  doctor  of  very  fair  reputation 
in  Westchester  County,  and  I  re<?ognized  every 
characteristic  of  his  as  mentioned  by  Miss  Gra- 
ham, save  the  frenzy  which  she  described  as  ac- 
companying his  address. 

In  those  days  he  was  calm  and  cold  and,  while 
outwardly  scrupulous,  capable  of  forgetting  his 
honor  as  a  physician  under  a  sufficiently  strong 
temptation.  I  had  left  him  when  new  prospects 
opened,  and  in  the  years  which  had  elapsed  had 
contented  myself  with  the  knowledge  that  his 
shingle  still  hung  out  in  Yonkers,  though  his 
practice  was  nothing  to  what  it  used  to  be  when 
I  was  in  his  employ.  ISTow  I  was  going  to  see 
him  again. 

That  his   was   the   hand   which   had    stolen 
Gwendolen  seemed  no  longer  open  to  doubt. 
69 


THE  MILLIOXAIRE  BABY 

That  she  was  under  his  care  in  the  curious  old 
house  I  remembered  in  the  heart  of  Yonkers, 
seemed  equally  probable;  but  why  so  sordid  a 
man — one  who  loved  money  above  everything 
else  in  the  world — should  retain  the  child  one 
minute  after  the  publication  of  the  bountiful 
reward  offered  by  Mr.  Ocumpaugh,  was  what  I 
could  not  at  first  understand.  Miss  Graham's 
theory  of  hate  had  made  no  impression  on  me. 
He  was  heartless  and  not  likely  to  be  turned 
aside  from  any  project  he  had  formed,  but  he 
•was  not  what  I  considered  vindictive  where 
nothing  was  to  be  gained.  Yet  my  comprehen- 
sion of  him  had  been  but  a  boy's  comprehen- 
sion, and  I  was  now  prepared  to  put  a  very 
different  estimate  on  one  whose  character  had 
never  struck  me  as  being  an  open  one,  even 
when  my  own  had  been  most  credulous. 

That  my  enterprise,  even  with  the  knowledge 
I  possessed  of  this  man,  promised  well  or  held 
out  any  prospects  of  easy  fulfilment,  I  no  longer 
allowed  myself  to  think.  If  money  was  his  ob- 
ject— and  what  other  could  influence  a  man  of 
his  temperament? — the  sum  offered  by  Mr. 
Ocumpaugh,  large  though  it  was,  had  appar- 
ently not  sufficed  to  satisfy  his  greed.  He  wa? 
70 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  IN  YON^IRS 

holding  back  the  child,  or  so  I  now  believed,  in 
order  to  wring  a  larger,  possibly  a  double, 
amount  from  the  wretched  mother.  Fifty  thou- 
sand was  a  goodly  sum,  but  one  hundred  thou- 
sand was  better  j  and  this  mjan  had  gigantic  ideas 
where  his  cupidity  was  concerned.  I  remember 
how  firmly  he  had  once  stood  out  for  ten  thou- 
sand dollars  when  he  had  been  offered  five ;  rnd 
I  began  to  see,  though  in  an  obscure  way  as  yet, 
how  it  might  very  easily  be  a  part  of  his  plan  to 
work  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  up  to  a  positive  belief 
in  the  child's  death  before  he  came  down  upon 
her  for  the  immense  reward  he  had  fixed  his 
heart  upon.  The  date  he  had  written  all  over 
the  place  might  thus  find  some  explanation  in 
a  plan  to  weaken  her  nerve  before  pressing  his 
exorbitant  claims  upon  her. 

IsTothing  was  clear,  yet  everything  was  pos- 
sible in  such  a  nature ;  and  anxious  to  enter  upon 
the  struggle  both  for  my  own  sake  and  that  of 
the  child  of  whose  condition  under  that  terrible 
eye  I  scarcely  dared  to  think,  I  left  Homewood 
in  haste  and  took  the  first  train  for  Yonkers. 
Though  the  dist-ance  was  not  great,  I  had  fully 
arranged  my  plans  before  entering  the  town 
where  so  many  of  my  boyish  years  had  been 
71 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

spent.  I  knew  the  old  fox  well  enough,  or 
thought  I  did,  to  be  certain  that  I  should  have 
anything  but  an  easy  entrance  into  his  house,  in 
case  it  still  harbored  the  child  w^hom  my  part- 
ner had  seen  carried  in  there.  I  anticipated 
diffieulties,  but  was  concerned  about  none  but 
the  possibility  of  not  being  able  to  bring  myself 
face  to  face  with  him.  Once  in  his  presence,  the 
knowledge  which  I  secretly  possessed  of  an  old 
but  doubtful  transaction  of  his,  would  serve  to 
make  him  mine  even  to  the  point  of  yielding  up 
the  child  he  had  forcibly  abducted.  But  would 
he  accord  me  an  interview?  Could  I,  without 
appeal  to  the  police — and  you  can  readily  be- 
lieve I  was  not  anxious  to  allow  them  to  put 
their  fingers  in  my  pie — force  him  to  open  his 
door  and  let  me  into  his  house,  which,  as  I  well 
recalled,  he  locked  up  at  nine — after  which  he 
would  receive  no  one,  not  even  a  patient? 

It  was  not  nine  yet,  but  it  was  very  near  that 
hour.  I  had  but  twenty  minutes  in  which  to 
mount  the  hill  to  the  old  house  marked  by  the 
doctor's  sign  and  by  another  peculiarity  of  so 
distinct  a  nature  that  it  would  serve  to  charac- 
terize a  dwelling  in  a  city  as  large  as  New  York 
— though  I  doubt  if  New  York  can  show  ita 
72 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  IN  YONKERS 

like  from  the  Battery  to  tlie  Bronx.  Tlie  par- 
ticulars of  this  I  will  mention  later.  I  have  first 
to  relate  the  relief  I  felt  when,  on  entering  the 
old  neighborhood,  I  heard  in  response  to  a  few 
notes  of  a  certain  popular  melody  which  I  had 
allowed  to  leave  my  lips,  an  added  note  or  two 
which  warned  me  that  my  partner  was  some- 
where hidden  among  the  alleys  of  this  very 
tmaristocratic  quarter.  Indeed,  from  the  sound, 
I  judged  him  to  be  in  the  rear  of  the  doctor^s 
house  and,  being  anxious  to  hear  what  he  had  to 
Bay  before  advancing  upon  the  door  which  might 
open  my  way  to  easy  fortune  or  complete  de- 
feat, I  paused  a  few  steps  off  and  waited  for 
his  appearance. 

He  was  at  my  elbow  before  I  had  either  seen 
or  heard  him.  He  was  always  light  of  foot,  but 
this  time  he  seemed  to  have  no  tread  at  all. 

"Still  here,"  was  his  comforting  assurance. 

"Both  ?"  I  whispered  back. 

"Both.'' 

"Any  one  else?" 

"No.  A  boy  drove  away  the  buggy  and  has 
not  come  back.     Sawbones  keeps  no  girl." 

"Is  the  child  quiet?  Has  there  been  no 
alarm?" 

73 


THE  MILLION AIBE  BABY. 

"Not  a  breath." 

"No  oops  in  the  neighborhood?  No  spies 
around  V 

"Not  one.    We've  got  it  all  this  time.  But — " 

"Hush!" 

"There's  nobody." 

"Yes,  the  doctor;  he's  fastening  up  his  house. 
I  must  hasten ;  nothing  would  induce  me  to  let 
that  innocent  remain  under  his  roof  all  night." 

"It's  not  the  windows  he  is  at." 

"What  then  ?" 

"The  door,  the  big  front  door." 

"Ther-" 

"Yes." 

I  gave  mj  partner  a  surprised  look,  undoubt- 
edly lost  in  the  darkness,  and  drew  a  step  nearer 
the  house. 

"If  8  just  the  same  old  gloom-box,"  I  ex- 
claimed, and  paused  for  an  instant  to  mark  the 
changes  which  had  taken  place  in  the  surround- 
ings. They  were  very  few  and  I  turned  back  to 
fix  my  eye  on  the  front  door  where  a  rattling 
sound  could  be  heard,  as  of  some  one  fingering 
the  latch.  It  was  this  door  which  formed  the 
peculiarity  of  the  house.  In  itself  it  was  like 
any  other  that  was  well-fashioned  and  solid,  but 
U 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  IN  YOXKERS 

it  opened  upon  space — that  is,  if  it  was  ever 
opened,  which  I  doubted.  The  stoop  and  even 
the  railing  which  had  once  guarded  it,  had  all 
been  removed,  leaving  a  bare  front,  with  this 
inhospitable  entrance  shut  against  every  one  who 
had  not  the  convenience  for  mounting  to  it  bv  a 
ladder.  There  was  another  way  in,  but  this  was 
round  on  one  side,  and  did  not  present  itself 
to  the  eye  unless  one  approached  from  the  west 
end  of  the  street ;  so  that  to  half  the  passers-by 
the  house  looked  like  a  deserted  one  till  they 
came  abreast  of  the  flagged  path  which  led  to  the 
office  door.  As  the  windows  had  never  been 
unclosed  in  my  day  and  were  not  now,  I  took  it 
for  granted  that  they  had  remained  thus  in- 
hospitably shut  during  all  the  years  of  my  ab- 
sence, which  certainly  offered  but  little  encour- 
agement to  a  man  bent  on  an  errand  which 
would  soon  take  him  into  those  dismal  precincts, 
"What  goes  on  behind  those  shuttered  win- 
dows ?"  thought  I.  'T  know  of  one  thing,  but 
what  else?"  The  one  thing  was  the  counting 
of  money  and  the  arranging  of  innumerable 
gold  pieees  on  the  great  top  of  a  baize-covered 
table  in  what  I  should  now  describe  as  the  back 
parlor.  I  remembered  how  he  used  to  do  it  I 
76 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

caught  him  at  it  once,  having  crept  up  one 
windy  night  from  my  little  room  off  the  office  to 
see  what  kept  the  doctor  up  so  late. 

As  I  now  stood  listening  in  the  dark  street  to 
those  strange  touches  on  a  door  disused  for 
years,  I  recalled  the  tremor  with  which  I 
rounded  the  top  of  the  stair  that  night  of  long 
ago  and  the  mingled  fear  and  awe  ^^th  which  I 
recognized,  not  only  such  a  mint  of  money  as  I 
had  never  seen  out  of  the  bank  before,  but  the 
greedy  and  devouring  passion  with  which  he 
pushed  the  glittering  coins  about  and  handled 
the  bank-notes  and  gloated  over  the  pile  it  all 
made  when  drawn  together  by  his  hooked 
fingers,  till  the  sound,  perhaps,  of  my  breathing 
in  the  dark  hall  startled  him  with  a  thought  of 
discovery,  and  his  two  hands  came  together  over 
that  pile  with  a  gesture  more  eloquent  even  than 
the  look  with  which  he  seemed  to  penetrate  the 
very  shadows  in  the  silent  space  wherein  I  stood. 
It  was  a  vision  short,  but  inexpressibly  vivid,  of 
the  miser  incarnate,  and  having  seen  it  and  es- 
caped detection,  as  was  my  undeserved  luck  that 
night,  I  needed  never  to  ask  again  why  he  had 
been  willing  to  accept  risks  from  which  most 
men  shrink  from  fear  if  not  from  conscience. 
76 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  IIST  YONKERS 

He  loved  money,  not  as  the  spender  loves  it, 
openly  and  with  luxurious  instincts,  but  secretly 
and  with  a  knavish  dread  of  discovery  which 
spoke  of  treasure  ill  acquired. 

And  now  he  was  seeking  to  add  to  his  gains, 
and  I  stood  on  the  outside  of  his  house  listen- 
ing to  sounds  I  did  not  understand,  instead  of 
attempting  to  draw  him  to  the  office-door  by 
ringing  the  bell  he  never  used  to  disconnect  till 
nine. 

"Do  you  know  that  I  don't  quite  like  the 
noises  which  are  being  made  up  there?"  came 
in  a  sudden  whisper  to  my  ear.  "Supposing  it 
was  the  child  trying  to  get  out!  She  does  not 
know  there  is  no  stoop ;  she  seemed  sleeping  or 
half-dead  when  he  carried  her  in,  and  if  by  any 
chance  she  has  got  hold  of  the  key  and  the  door 
should  open — " 

"Hush!''  I  cried,  starting  forward  in  horror 
of  the  thought  he  had  suggested.  "It  is 
opening.  I  see  a  thread  of  light  What  does 
it  mean,  Jupp  ?  The  child  ?  ISTo ;  there  is  more 
than  a  child's  strength  in  that  push.  Hist!'' 
Here  I  drew  him  flat  against  the  wall.  The 
door  above  had  swung  back  and  some  one  was 
stamping  on  the  threshold  over  our  heads  in 
77 


THE  MILLIONAIKE  BABY 

what  appeared  to  be  an  outburst  of  ungovern- 
able fury. 

That  it  was  the  doctor  I  could  not  doubt. 
But  why  this  anger;  why  this  mad  gasping 
after  breath  and  the  half-growl,  half-cry,  with 
which  he  faced  the  night  and  the  quiet  of  a 
street  which  to  his  glance,  passing  as  it  did  over 
our  heads,  must  have  appeared  altogether  de- 
serted ?  We  were  consulting  each  other's  faces 
for  some  explanation  of  this  unlooked-for  out- 
break, when  the  door  above  us  suddenly  slam- 
med to  and  we  heard  a  renewal  of  that  fumbling 
with  lock  and  key  which  had  first  drawn  our 
attention.  But  the  hand  was  not  sure  or  the 
hall  was  dark,  for  the  key  did  not  turn  in  the 
lock.  Suddenly  awake  to  my  opportunity,  I 
wheeled  Jupp  about  and,  making  use  of  his  knee 
and  back,  climbed  up  till  I  was  enabled  to  reach 
the  knob  and  turn  it  just  as  the  man  within  had 
stepped  back,  probably  to  procure  more  light 

The  result  was  that  the  door  s\\mng  open  and 
I  stumbled  in,  falling  almost  face  downward  on 
the  marble  floor  faintly  checkered  off  to  my  sight 
in  the  dim  light  of  a  lamp  set  far  back  in  a  bare 
and  dismal  hall.  I  was  on  my  feet  again  in  an 
instant  and  it  wa^  in  this  manner,  and  with  all 
78 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  IX  YOXKERS 

the  disadvantages  of  a  hatless  head  and  a  dis- 
ordered countenance,  that  I  encountered  again 
my  old  employer  after  five  years  of  absence. 

He  did  not  recognize  me.  I  saw  it  by  the 
look  of  alarm  -^hich  crossed  his  features  and 
the  involuntary  opening  of  his  lips  in  what 
would  certainly  have  been  a  loud  cry  if  I  had 
not  smiled  and  cried  out  with  false  gaiety : 

"Excuse  me,  doctor,  I  never  came  in  by  that 
door  before.  Pardon  my  awkwardness.  The 
step  is  somewhat  high  from  the  street." 

My  smile  is  my  own,  they  say;  at  all  events 
it  served  to  enlighten  him. 

^^ob  Trevitt,'*'  he  exclaimed,  but  with  a  growl 
of  displeasure  I  could  hardly  condemn  under 
the  circumstances. 

I  hastened  to  push  my  advantage,  for  he  was 
looking  very  threateningly  toward  the  door 
which  was  swaying  gently  and  in  an  inviting 
way  to  a  man  who  if  old,  had  more  power  in 
his  arms  than  I  had  in  my  whole  body. 

^'Mr.  Trevitt,"  I  corrected;  '^and  on  a  very 
important  errand.  I  am  here  on  behalf  of 
Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,  whose  child  you  have  at  this 
moment  under  your  roof." 


79 


VI 

DOCTOE  POOL 

It  was  a  direct  attack  and  for  a  minute  I 
doubted  if  I  had  not  made  a  mistake  in  mak- 
ing it  so  suddenly  and  without  gloves.  His 
face  purpled,  the  veins  on  his  forehead  started 
out,  his  great  form  shook  with  an  ire  that  in 
such  domineering  natures  as  his  can  only  find 
relief  in  a  blow.  But  the  right  hand  did  not  rise 
nor  the  heavy  fist  fall.  With  admirable  self- 
restraint  he  faced  me  for  a  moment,  without 
attempting  either  protest  or  denial.  Then  his 
blazing  eyes  cooled  do^Ti,  and  with  a  sudden 
gesture  which  at  once  relajvcd  his  extreme  ten- 
sion of  nerve  and  muscle,  he  pointed  toward 
the  end  of  the  hall  and  remarked  with  studied 
politeness : 

^^My  office  is  below,  as  you  know.  Will  you 
oblige  me  by  following  me  there  V 

I  feared  him,  for  I  saw  that  studiously  as  he 
sought  to  hide  his  impressions,  he  too  regarded 
the  moment  as  one  of  critical  significance. 
80 


DOCTOK  POOL 

But  I  assumed  an  air  of  perfect  confidence, 
merely  observing  as  I  left  the  neighborhood  of 
the  front  door  and  the  proximity  of  Jupp : 

"I  have  friends  on  the  outside  who  are  wait- 
ing for  me ;  so  you  must  not  keep  me  too  long." 

He  was  bending  to  take  up  the  lamp  from 
a  small  table  near  the  basement  stair  as  I  threw 
out  these  words  in  apparent  carelessness,  and 
the  flash  which  shot  from  under  his  shaggy 
brows  was  thus  necessarily  heightened  by  the 
glare  in  which  he  stood.  Yet  with  all  allow- 
ances made  I  marked  him  down  in  my  own 
mind  as  dangerous,  and  was  correspondingly 
surprised  when  he  turned  on  the  top  step  of  the 
narrow  staircase  I  remembered  so  vividly  from 
the  experience  I  have  before  named,  and  in  the 
mildest  of  accents  remarked: 

''These  stairs  are  a  trifle  treacherous.  Be 
careful  to  grasp  the  hand-rail  as  you  come 
down," 

Was  the  game  deeper  than  I  thought  ?  In  all 
my  remembrance  of  him  I  had  never  before 
seen  him  look  benevolent,  and  it  alarmed  me, 
coming  as  it  did  after  the  accusation  I  had 
made.  I  felt  tempted  to  make  a  stand  and 
demand  that  the  interview  be  held  then  and 
81 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

there.  For  I  knew  liis  subterranean  offi(»  very 
well,  and  how  difficult  it  would  be  to  raise  a  cry 
there  which  could  be  heard  by  any  one  outsida 
Still,  with  a  muttered,  *^Thank  you,"  I  pro- 
ceeded to  follow  him  do"^Ti,  only  stopping  once 
in  the  descent  to  listen  for  some  sound  by  which 
I  could  determine  in  which  room  of  the  many  I 
knew  to  be  on  this  floor  the  little  one  lay,  on 
whose  behalf  I  was  incurring  a  possible  bullet 
from  the  pistol  I  once  saw  lurking  amongst 
bottles  and  corks  in  one  of  the  innumerable 
drawers  of  the  doctor's  table.  But  all  was  still 
around  and  overhead ;  too  still  for  my  peace  of 
mind,  in  which  dreadful  visions  began  to  rise 
of  a  drugged  or  dying  child,  panting  out  its 
innocent  breath  in  darkness  and  solitude.  Yet 
no.  With  those  thousands  to  be  had  for  the  ask- 
ing, any  man  would  be  a  fool  to  injure  or  even 
seriously  to  frighten  a  child  upon  whose  good 
condition  they  depended;  much  less  a  miser 
whose  whole  heart  was  fixed  on  money. 

The  clock  struck  as  I  put  foot  on  the  landing ; 
so  much  can  happen  in  twenty  minutes  when 
events  crowd  and  the  passions  of  men  reach 
their  boiling-point!  I  expected  to  see  the  old 
man  try  that  door,  even  to  double  bolt  it  as  in 

I? 


DOCTOR  POOL 

tlie  years  gone  bv.  But  he  merely  tHrew  a  look 
that  way  and  proceeded  on  down  the  three  or 
four  steps  which  led  into  the  species  of  base- 
ment where  he  had  chosen  to  fix  his  office.  In 
another  moment  that  dim  and  dismal  room 
broke  upon  my  view  under  the  vague  light  of 
the  small  and  poorly-trimmed  lamp  he  carried. 
I  saw  again  its  musty  walls  covered  vrith  books, 
where  there  were  shelves  laden  with  bottles 
and  a  loose  array  of  miscellaneous  objects  I 
had  often  handled  but  out  of  which  I  never 
could  make  any  meaning.  I  recognized  it  all  and 
detected  but  few  changes.  But  these  were  start- 
ling ones.  The  old  lounge  standing  under  the 
two  barred  windows  which  I  had  often  likened 
in  my  own  mind  to  those  of  a  jail,  had  been  re- 
covered; and  lying  on  the  table,  which  I  had 
always  regarded  with  a  mixture  of  awe  and  ap- 
prehension, I  perceived  something  which  I  had 
never  seen  there  before:  a  Bible,  with  its  edges 
worn  and  its  leaves  rumpled  as  if  often  and 
eagerly  handled. 

I  was  so  struck  by  this  last  discovery  that  I 
stopped,  staring,  in  the  doorway,  looking  from 
the  sacred  volume  to  his  worn  but  vigorous  fig- 
ure drawn  up  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  with 
83 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

the  lamp  still  in  his  hand  and  his  small  but 
brilliant  eves  fixed  upon  mine  with  a  certain 
ironical  glitter  in  them,  which  gave  me  my  first 
distrust  of  the  part  I  had  come  there  to  play. 

"We  will  waste  no  words,''  said  he,  settincj 
down  the  lamp,  and  seizing  with  his  disengaged 
hand  the  long  locks  of  his  flowing  beard.  "In 
what  respect  are  you  a  messenger  from  Mrs. 
Ocumpaugh,  and  what  makes  jou  think  I  have 
her  child  in  this  house  V^ 

I  found  it  easier  to  answer  the  last  question 
first. 

"I  know  the  child  is  here,"  I  replied,  "be- 
cause mv  partner  saw  you  bring  her  in.  I  have 
gone  into  the  detective  business  since  leaving 

JOU." 

"Ah !" 

There  was  an  astonishing  edge  to  his  smile 
and  I  felt  that  I  should  have  to  make  the  most 
of  that  old  discovery  of  mine,  if  I  were  to  hold 
my  own  with  this  man. 

"And  may  I  ask,"  he  coldly  continued,  ^'how 
you  have  succeeded  in  connecting  me  with  this 
young  child's  disappearance  ?" 

"It's  straight  as  a  string,"  I  retorted.  "You 
threatened  the  child  to  its  face  in  the  hearing 
84 


DOCTOR  POOL 

of  its  nurse  some  two  weeks  ago,  on  a  certain 
bridge  where  70U  stopped  them.  You  even  set 
the  day  when  the  little  Gwendolen  should  pass 
from  luxury  to  poveiiy.''  Here  I  cast  an  in- 
voluntary glance  about  the  room  where  the  only 
sign  of  comfort  was  the  newly  upholstered 
lounge.  ^'That  day  was  the  sixteenth,  and  we 
all  know  what  happened  on  that  date.  If  this 
is  not  plain  enough  — "  I  had  seen  his  lip  curl 
— "allow  me  to  add,  by  way  of  explanation,  that 
you  have  seen  fit  to  threaten  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh 
herself  with  this  date,  for  I  know  well  the  hand 
which  wrote  August  16  on  the  bungalow  floor 
and  in  various  other  places  about  Home- 
wood  where  her  eye  was  likely  to  fall."  And  I 
let  my  own  fall  on  a  sort  of  manuscript  lying 
open  not  far  from  the  Bible,  which  still  looked 
so  out  of  place  to  me  on  this  pagan-hearted  old 
miser's  table.  "Such  chirography  as  yours  is 
not  to  be  mistaken,"  I  completed,  with  a  short 
gesture  toward  the  disordered  sheets  he  had  left 
spread  out  to  every  eye. 

"I  see.  A  detective  without  doubt  Did  you 
play  the  detective  here  ?" 

The  last  question  leaped  like  a  shot  from  his 
lips. 

85 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

"You  have  not  denied  the  threats  to  which  I 
have  just  called  your  attention,"  was  my  cau- 
tious reply. 

"What  need  of  that  V  he  retorted.  "Are  you 
not  a — detective  f' 

There  was  sarcasm,  as  well  as  taunt  in  the 
way  he  uttered  that  last  word.  I  was  conscious 
of  being  at  a  loss,  but  put  a  bold  front  on  the 
matter  and  proceeded  as  if  conscious  of  no  secret 
misgiving. 

"Can  you  deny  as  well  that  you  have  been 
gone  two  days  from  this  place?  That  during 
this  time  a  doctor's  buggy,  draAvn  by  a  horse  I 
should  know  by  description,  having  harnessed 
him  three  times  a  day  for  two  years,  was  seen 
by  more  than  one  observer  in  the  wake  of  a  mys- 
terious wagon  from  the  interior  of  which  a 
child's  crying  could  be  heard  ?  The  wagon  did 
not  drive  up  to  this  house  to-night,  but  the  buggy 
did,  and  from  it  you  carried  a  child  which  you 
brought  with  you  into  this  house." 

With  a  sudden  down-bringing  of  his  old  but 
powerful  hand  on  the  top  of  the  table  before 
him,  he  seemed  about  to  utter  an  oath  or  some 
angry  invective.  But  again  he  controlled  him- 
self, and  eying  me  without  any  show  of  shame 

86 


DOCTOE  POOL 

or  even  of  desire  to  contradict  any  of  my  as- 
sertions, he  quietly  declared: 

''You  are  after  thai  reward,  I  observe.  Well, 
you  won't  get  it.  Like  many  others  of  your 
class  you  can  follow  a  trail,  but  the  insight  to 
start  right  and  to  end  in  triumphant  success  is 
given  only  to  a  genius,  and  you  are  not  a 
genius.'' 

With  a  blush  I  could  not  control,  I  advanced 
upon  him,  crying: 

"You  have  forestalled  me.  You  have  tele- 
graphed or  telephoned  to  Mr.  Atwater — " 

"I  have  not  left  my  house  since  I  came  in 
here  three  hours  ago." 

"Then—"  I  began. 

But  he  hushed  me  with  a  looL 

"It  is  not  a  matter  of  money,"  he  declared 
almost  with  dignity.  "Those  who  think  to  reap 
dollars  from  the  distress  which  has  come  upon 
the  Ocumpaugh  family  vrill  eat  ashes  for  their 
pains.  Money  will  be  spent,  but  none  of  it 
earned,  unless  you,  or  such  as  you,  are  hired  at 
80  much  an  hour  to — follow  trails." 

Greatly  astounded  not  only  by  the  attitude 
he  took,  but  by  the  calm  and  almost  indifferent 
way  in  which  he  mentioned  what  I  had  every 

87 


THE  MILLIO^^AIRE  BABY 

reason  to  believe  to  be  the  one  bnrniug  object 
of  his  existence,  I  surveyed  him  with  undis- 
guised astonishment  till  another  thought,  grow- 
ing out  of  the  silence  of  the  many-roomed  house 
above  us,  gripped  me  with  secret  dread;  and  I 
exclaimed  aloud  and  without  any  attempt  at 
subterfuge : 

''She  is  dead,  then!  the  child  is  dead!" 

"I  do  not  know,"  was  his  reply. 

The  four  words  were  uttered  with  undeniable 
gloom. 

"You  do  not  know  ?"  I  echoed,  conscious  that 
my  jaw  had  fallen,  and  that  I  was  staring  at 
him  with  fright  in  my  eyes. 

"^o.  I  wish  I  did.  I  would  give  half  of  my 
small  savings  to  know  where  that  innocent  baby 
is  to-night.  Sit  down !"  he  vehemently  com- 
manded. "You  do  not  understand  me,  I  see. 
You  confound  the  old  Doctor  Pool  with  the 
new." 

''I  confound  nothing,"  I  violently  retorted  in 
strong  revulsion  against  what  I  had  now  come 
to  look  upon  as  the  attempt  of  a  subtile  actor 
to  turn  aside  my  suspicions  and  brave  out  a 
dangerous  situation  by  a  ridiculous  subterfuge. 
'*I  understand  the  miser  whom  I  have  beheld 
88 


DOCTOR  POOL 

gloating  over  his  hoard  in  the  room  above,  and 
I  understand  the  doctor  who  for  money  could 
lend  himself  to  a  fraud,  the  secret  results  of 
which  are  agitating  the  whole  country  at  this 
moment'' 

"So!"  The  word  came  with  difficulty.  ''So 
you  did  play  the  detective,  even  as  a  boy.  Pity 
I  had  not  recognized  your  talents  at  the  time. 
But  no — "  he  contradicted  himself  with  great 
rapidity;  "I  was  not  a  redeemed  soul  then; 
I  might  have  done  you  harm.  I  might  have  had 
more  if  not  worse  sins  to  atone  for  than  I  have 
now."  And  with  scant  appearance  of  having 
noted  the  doubtful  manner  in  which  I  had  re- 
ceived this  astonishing  outburst,  he  proceeded 
to  cry  aloud  and  with  a  commanding  gesture: 
"Quit  this.  You  have  undertaken  more  than 
you  can  handle.  You,  a  messenger  from  Mrs. 
Ocumpaugh?  ISTever.  You  are  but  the  mes- 
senger of  your  own  cupidity ;  and  cupidity  leads 
by  the  straightest  of  roads  directly  down  to 
hell." 

"This  you  proved  six  long  years  ago.     Lead 

me  to  the  child  I  believe  to  be  in  this  house  or 

I   will   proclaim   aloud   the  pact  you   entered 

into  then — a  pact  to  which  I  was  an  involuntary 

89 


THE  MILLIO:^AIEE  BABY 

witness  whose  word,  however,  will  not  go  for 
less  on  that  account.  Behind  the  curtain  still 
hanging  over  that  old  closet  I  stood  while — " 

His  hand  had  seized  my  arm  with  a  grip  few 
could  have  proceeded  under. 

"Do  you  mean — " 

The  rest  was  whispered  in  my  ear. 

I  nodded  and  felt  that  he  was  mine  now. 
But  the  laugh  which  the  next  minute  broke  from 
his  lips  dashed  my  assurance. 

*^0h,  the  ways  of  the  world !"  he  cried.  Then 
in  a  different  tone  and  not  without  reverence: 
"Oh,  the  ways  of  God  r 

I  made  no  reply.  For  every  reason  I  felt 
that  the  next  word  must  come  from  him. 

It  was  an  unexpected  one. 

"That  was  Doctor  Pool  unregenerate  and 
more  heedful  of  the  things  of  this  world  than  of 
those  of  the  world  to  come.  You  have  to  deal 
with  quite  a  different  man  now.  It  is  of  that 
very  sin  I  am  now  repenting  in  sackcloth  and 
ashes.  I  live  but  to  expiate  it.  Something  has 
been  done  toward  accomplishing  this,  but  not 
enough.  I  have  been  played  upon,  used.  This 
I  will  avenge.  ISTew  sin  is  a  poor  apology  for 
an  old  one." 


DOCTOK  POOL 


I  scarcely  heeded  liim.  I  was  again  strain- 
ing mj  ears  to  catch  a  smothered  sob  or  a  fright- 
ened moan. 

"What  are  jou  listening  for  ?"  he  asked. 

"For  the  sound  of  little  Gwendolen's  voice. 
It  is  worth  fifty  thousand  dollars,  you  remem- 
ber. Why  shouldn't  I  listen  for  it?  Besides, 
I  have  a  real  and  uncontrollable  sympathy  for 
the  child.  I  am  determined  to  restore  her  to 
her  home.  Your  blasphemous  babble  of  a 
changed  heart  does  not  affect  me.  You  are  after 
a  larger  haul  than  the  sum  offered  by  Mr.  Ocum- 
paugh.  You  want  some  of  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's 
fortune.    I  have  suspected  it  from  the  first" 

"I  want?  Little  you  know  what  I  want" — 
then  quickly,  convincingly:  "You  are  strangely 
deceived.    Little  Miss  Ocumpaugh  is  not  here." 

"\Miat  is  that  I  hear,  then?"  was  the  quick 
retort  with  which  I  hailed  the  sigh,  unmistak- 
ably from  infantile  lips,  which  now  rose  from 
some  place  very  much  nearer  us  than  the  hollow 
regions  overhead  toward  which  my  ears  had 
been  so  long  turned. 

"That !"  He  flashed  with  uncontrollable  pas- 
sion, and  if  I  am  not  mistaken  clenched  his 
bands  so  violently  as  to  bury  his  nails  in  his 

n 


THE  MILLION AIKE  BABY 

flesh.  "Would  jou  like  to  see  what  that  is? 
Come!" —  and  taking  up  the  lamp,  he  moved, 
much  to  mj  surprise  as  well  as  to  mj  intense 
interest,  toward  the  door  of  the  small  cupboard 
where  I  had  myself  slept  when  in  his  service. 
That  he  still  meditated  some  deviltry  which 
would  call  for  my  full  presence  of  mind  to  com- 
bat successfully,  I  did  not  in  the  least  doubt. 
Yet  the  agitation  under  which  I  crossed  the  floor 
was  more  the  result  of  an  immediate  anticipa- 
tion of  seeing — and  in  this  place  of  all  others  in 
the  world — the  child  about  whom  my  thoughts 
had  clung  so  persistently  for  forty-two  hours, 
than  of  any  results  to  myself  in  the  way  of  in- 
jury or  misfortune.  Though  the  room  was  small 
and  my  passage  across  it  necessarily  short,  I 
had  time  to  remember  Mrs.  OcumpaugVs  piti- 
ful countenance  as  I  saw  it  gazing  in  agony 
of  expectation  from  her  window  overlooking  the 
river,  and  to  catch  again  the  sounds,  less  true 
and  yet  strangely  thrilling,  of  Mrs.  Carew's 
voice  as  she  said:  "A  tragedy  at  my  doors  and 
I  occupied  with  my  own  affairs !"  o^or  was  thi? 
all.  A  recollection  of  Miss  Graham's  sorrow 
came  up  before  my  eyes  also,  and,  truest  of  alL 
most  penetrating  to  me  of  all  the  loves  whieh 
92 


DOCTOR  POOL 

seemed  to  encompass  this  rare  and  winsome  in- 
fant, the  infinite  tenderness  with  which  I  once 
saw  Mr.  Ocumpangh  lift  her  to  his  breast,  dur- 
ing one  of  mv  interviews  with  him  at  Home- 
wood. 

All  this  before  the  door  had  swung  open. 
Afterward,  I  saw  nothing  and  thought  of  noth- 
ing but  the  small  figure  lying  in  the  spot  where 
I  had  once  pillowed  my  own  head,  and  with 
no  more  luxuries  or  even  comforts  about  her 
than  had  been  my  lot  under  this  broad  but  by 
no  means  hospitable  roof. 

A  bare  wall,  a  narrow  cot,  a  table  with  a 
bottle  and  glass  on  it  and  the  child  in  the  bed — 
that  was  all.  But  God  knows,  it  was  enough 
to  me  at  that  breathless  moment;  and  advan(^ 
ing  eagerly,  I  wag  about  to  stoop  over  the  little 
head  sunk  deep  in  its  pillow,  when  the  old  man 
stepped  between  and  with  a  short  laugh  re- 
marked : 

"There's  no  such  huriy.  I  have  something  to 
say  first,  in  explanation  of  the  anger  you  have 
seen  me  display;  an  anger  which  is  unseemly 
in  a  man  professing  to  have  conquered  the  sins 
and  passions  of  lost  humanity.  I  did  follow 
this  child.  You  were  right  in  saying  that  it 
93 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

was  my  horse  and  buggy  which  were  seen  in  the 
wake  of  the  wagon  which  came  from  the  region 
of  Home  wood  and  lost  itself  in  the  cross-roads 
running  between  the  Xorth  River  and  the 
Sound.  For  two  days  and  a  night  I  followed  it, 
through  more  difficulties  than  I  could  relate  in 
an  hour,  stopping  in  lonely  woods,  or  at 
wretched  taverns,  watching,  waiting  for  the 
transfer  of  the  child,  whose  destination  I  was 
bound  to  know  even  if  it  cost  me  a  week  of 
miserable  ti'avel  without  comfortable  food  or 
decent  lodging.  I  could  hear  the  child  cry  out 
from  time  to  time — an  assurance  that  I  was  not 
following  a  will-o'-the-wisp — but  not  till  to-day, 
not  till  very  late  to-day,  did  any  words  pass  be- 
tween me  and  the  man  and  woman  who  drove 
the  wagon.  At  Fordham,  just  as  I  suspected 
them  of  making  final  efforts  to  escape  me,  they 
came  to  a  halt  and  I  saw  the  man  get  out 

"I  immediately  got  out  too.  As  we  faced 
each  other,  I  demanded  what  the  matter  was. 
He  appeared  reckless.  ^A.re  you  a  doctor?'  he 
asked.  I  assured  him  that  I  was.  At  which 
he  blurted  out :  ^I  don't  know  why  you've  been 
following  us  so  long,  and  I  don't  care.  I've  got 
a  job  for  you.  A  child  in  our  wagon  is  iU.'  '^ 
94 


DOCTOR  POOL 


With  a  start  I  attempted  to  look  over  tiie 
old  man's  shoulder  toward  the  bed.  But  the 
deep,  if  irregular,  breathing  of  the  child  re- 
assured me,  and  I  turned  to  hear  the  doctor  out. 

"This  gave  me  my  chance.  *Let  me  see  her/ 
I  cried.  The  man's  eye  lowered.  I  did  not 
like  his  face  at  all.  ^If  it's  anything  serious,' 
he  growled,  ^I  shall  cut.  It  isn't  my  flesh  and 
blood  nor  yet  my  old  woman's  there.  You'll 
have  to  find  some  place  for  the  brat  besides  my 
wagon  if  it's  anything  that  won't  get  cured 
without  nu'ssin'.  So  come  along  and  have  a 
look.'  I  followed  him,  perfectly  determined  to 
take  the  child  under  my  own  care,  sick  or  well. 
^Where  were  you  going  to  take  her  V  I  asked.  I 
didn't  ask  who  she  was ;  why  should  I  ?  ^I  don't 
know  as  I  am  obliged  to  tell,'  was  his  surly 
reply.  ^Where  we  are  going  oursel's,'  he  reluc- 
tantly added.  ^But  not  to  nu'ss.  I've  no  time 
for  nu'ssin'  brats,  nor  my  wife  neither.  We 
have  a  journey  to  make.  Sarah !' — this  to  his 
wife,  for  by  this  time  we  were  beside  the  wagon, 
— 'lift  up  the  flap  and  hold  the  youngster's  hand 
out.  Here's  a  doctor  who  will  tell  us  if  it's 
fever  or  not'  A  puny  hand  and  wrist  were 
thrust  out.     I  felt  the  pulse  and  then  held  out 


THE  MILLIOXAIKE  BABY 

my  arms.  'Give  me  the  child/  I  commanded. 
'She's  sick  enough  for  a  hospital.'  A  grunt 
from  the  woman  within,  an  oath  from  the  man, 
and  a  bundle  was  presently  put  in  my  arms, 
from  which  a  little  moan  escaped  as  I  strode 
with  it  toward  my  bugg}'.  'I  do  not  ask  your 
name,'  I  called  back  to  the  man  who  reluctantly 
followed  me.  'Mine  is  Doctor  Pool  and  I  live 
in  Yonkers.'  He  muttered  something  about  not 
peachin'  on  a  poor  man  who  was  really  doin' 
an  unfortunate  a  kindness,  and  then  slimk  hur- 
riedly back  and  was  gone,  wagon,  wife  and  all, 
by  the  time  I  had  whipped  up  ray  tired  old  nag 
and  turned  about  toward  Yonkers.  But  I  had 
the  child  safe  and  sound  in  my  arms,  and  my 
fears  of  its  fate  were  relieved.  It  was  not  well, 
but  I  anticipated  nothing  serious.  When  it 
moaned  I  pressed  it  a  little  closer  to  my  breast 
and  that  was  all.  In  three-quarters  of  an  hour 
we  were  in  Yonkers.  In  fifteen  minutes  I  had 
it  on  this  bed,  and  had  begun  to  unroll  the 
shawl  in  which  it  was  closely  wrapped.  Did 
you  ever  see  the  child  about  whom  there  has 
been  all  this  coil  ?" 

"Yes,   about  three  years  ago." 

"Three  years!  I  have  seen  her  within  a 
^6 


DOCTOK  POOL 

fortnight;  jet  I  could  carry  that  young  one  in 
my  arms  for  a  whole  hour  without  the  least  sus- 
picion that  I  was  making  a  fool  of  myself." 

Quickly  slipping  aside,  he  allowed  me  to  ap- 
proach the  bed  and  take  my  first  look  at  the 
sleeping  child's  face.  It  was  a  sweet  one  but  I 
did  not  need  the  hint  he  had  given  me  to  find 
the  features  strange,  and  lacking  every  charac- 
teristic of  those  of  Gwendolen  Ocumpaugh.  Yet 
as  the  cutting  off  of  the  hair  Avill  often  change 
the  whole  aspect  of  the  face — and  this  child's 
hair  was  short — I  was  stooping  in  great  excite- 
ment to  notice  more  particularly  the  contour  of 
eheek  and  chin  which  had  given  individuality 
to  the  little  heiress,  when  the  doctor  touched  me 
on  the  arm  and  drew  my  attention  to  a  pair  of 
little  trousers  and  a  shirt  which  were  hanging 
on  the  door  behind  me. 

^^Those  are  the  clothes  I  came  upon  under 
that  great  shawl.  The  child  I  have  been  fol- 
lowing and  whom  I  have  brought  into  my  house 
under  the  impression  it  was  Gwendolen  Ocum- 
paugh is  not  even  a  girl." 


97 


vn 


I  could  well  understand  the  wrath  to  which 
this  man  had  given  way,  bv  the  feeling 
which  now  took  hold  of  mv  own  breast 

"A  boy!"  I  exclaimed. 

"A  boY.'^ 

Still  incredulous,  I  leaned  over  the  child  and 
lifted  into  the  full  light  of  the  lamp  one  of 
the  little  hands  I  saw  lying  outside  of  the 
coverlet.  There  was  no  mistaking  it  for  a 
girl's  hand,  let  alone  a  little  lady's. 

"So  we  are  both  fools !"  I  vociferated  in  my 
unbounded  indignation,  careful  however  to  lay 
the  small  hand  gently  back  on  the  panting 
breast.  And  turning  away  both  from  the  doc- 
tor and  his  small  patient,  I  strolled  back  into 
the  office. 

The  bubble  whose  gay  colors  I  had  followed 
with  such  avidity  had  burst  in  my  face  wdth  a 
rengeance. 

But  once  from  under  the  influence  of  the 
98 


"FIKD  THE  CHILD  r 


doctor's  sarcastic  eye,  my  better  nature  rea&- 
serted  itself.  Wheeling  about,  I  threw  this 
question  back: 

"If  that  is  a  boy  and  a  stranger,  where  is 
Gwendolen   Ocumpaugh  ?" 

A  moan  from  the  bed  and  a  hurried  move- 
ment on  the  part  of  the  doctor,  who  took  this  op- 
portunity to  give  the  child  another  dose  of 
medicine,  were  my  sole  response.  Waiting  till 
the  doctor  had  finished  his  task  and  drawn  back 
from  the  bedside,  I  repeated  the  question  and 
vrith  increased  emphasis : 

"Where,  then,  is  Gwendolen  Ocumpaugh  ?" 

Still  the  doctor  did  not  answer,  though  he 
turned  my  way  and  even  stepped  forward;  his 
long  visage,  cadaverous  from  fatigue  and  the 
shock  of  his  disappointment,  growing  more  and 
more  somber  as  he  advanced. 

When  he  came  to  a  stand  by  the  table,  I 
asked  again: 

"Where  is  the  child  idolized  by  Mr.  Ocum- 
paugh and  mourned  to  such  a  degree  by  his  al- 
most maddened  ^vife  that  they  say  she  will  die 
if  the  little  girl  is  not  found?" 

The  threat  iii  my  tones  brought  a  response  at 
last, — a  response  which  astonished  me. 
99 


THE  ]^nLLIOKAIRE  BABY 

''Have  I  not  said  that  I  do  not  know  ?  Do 
vou  not  believe  me  ?  Do  you  think  me  as  blind 
to-daj  to  truth  and  honor  as  I  was  six  years  ago  ? 
Have  you  no  idea  of  repentance  and  legenera- 
tion  from  sin  ?  You  are  a  detective.  Find  me 
that  child.  You  shall  have  money — hundreds — 
thousands — if  you  can  bring  me  proofs  of  her 
being  yet  alive.  If  the  Hudson  has  swallowed 
her — "  here  his  figure  rose,  dilated  and  took  on 
a  majesty  which  impressed  itself  upon  me 
through  all  my  doubts — ''I  will  have  vengeance 
on  whoever  has  thus  dared  the  laws  of  God  and 
man  as  I  would  on  the  foulest  murderer  in  the 
foulest  slums  of  that  city  which  breeds  wicked- 
ness in  high  places  as  in  low.  I  lock  hands 
no  longer  with  Belial.  Find  me  the  child,  or 
make  me  at  least  to  know  the  truth !" 

There  was  no  doubting  the  passion  w^hich 
drove  these  words  hot  from  his  lips.  I  recog- 
nized at  last  the  fanatic  whom  Miss  Graham 
had  so  graphically  described  in  relating  her  ex- 
traordinary adventure  on  the  bridge ;  and  met 
him  with  this  one  question,  which  was  certainly 
a  vital  one: 

"Who  dropped  a  shoe  from  the  little  one's 
closet,  into  the  water  under  the  dock  ?  Did  you  ?'' 
100 


"Fi:N"DTHECjrIILi)l" 

"IN'o."     His  reply  came  qaick.^nd  sharp; 

"But,"  I  insisted,  "you  have  had  sometking 
to  do  with  this  child's  disappearance." 

He  did  not  answer.  A  sullen  look  was  dis- 
placing the  fire  of  resolve  in  the  eyes  I  saw  sink- 
ing slowly  hefore  mine. 

"I  will  not  acknowledge  it,"  he  muttered; 
adding,  however,  in  what  was  little  short  of  a 
growl:  "Xot  yet,  not  till  it  becomes  my  duty 
to  avenge  innocent  blood." 

"You  foi-etold  the  date." 

"Drop  it." 

"You  were  in  league  with  the  abductor,"  I 
persisted.  "I  declare  to  your  face,  in  spite  of 
all  the  vaunted  scruples  with  which  you  seek  to 
blind  me  to  your  guilt,  that  you  were  in  league 
with  the  abductor,  knowing  what  money  Mrs. 
Ocumpaugh  would  pay.  Only  he  was  too 
smart  for  you,  and  perhaps  too  unscrupulous. 
You  would  stop  short  of  murder,  now  that  you 
have  got  religion.  But  his  conscience  is  not  so 
nice  and  so  you  fear — " 

"You  do  not  know  what  I  fear  and  I  am  not 
going  to  tell  you.      It   is   enough   that  I   am 
conscious  of  my  own  uprightness  and  that  I  say, 
Find  the  child !  You  have  incentive  enough." 
101 


THE  :M1TXI0NAIRE  BABY 

It' was  trae,aud  it  \^as  growing  stronger  every 
minute. 

"Confine  yourself  to  such  clues  as  are  appar- 
ent to  every  eye,"  he  now  admonished  me  with 
an  eagerness  that  seemed  real.  "If  they  are 
pointed  by  some  special  knowledge  you  believe 
yourself  to  have  gained,  that  is  all  the  better — 
perhaps.    I  do  not  propose  to  say." 

I  saw  that  he  had  uttered  his  ultimatum. 

"Very  good,"  said  I.  "I  have,  nevertheless, 
one  more  question  to  ask  which  relates  to  those 
very  clues.  You  can  not  refuse  to  answer  it  if 
you  are  really  desirous  of  aiding  me  in  my 
efforts.  Wliere  did  you  first  come  upon  the 
wagon  which  you  followed  so  many  hours  in  the 
belief  that  it  held  Gwendolen  Ocumpaugh  ?" 

He  mused  a  moment  with  downcast  head,  his 
nervous  frame  trembling  with  the  force  with 
which  he  threw  his  whole  weight  on  the  hand 
h©  held  outspread  on  the  table  before  him.  Then 
he  c^hnly  replied: 

"I  will  tell  you  that  At  the  gate  of  Mrs. 
Carew's  grounds.  You  know  them  ?  They  ad- 
join the  Ocumpaughs'  on  the  left." 

My  surprise  made  me  lower  my  head  but  not 
60  quickly  that  I  did  not  catch  the  oblique  glint 
108 


"FIND  THE  CHILD  V' 

of  his  eye  as  lie  mentioned  the  name  which 
I  was  so  little  prepared  to  hear  in  this  conneo- 
tion. 

^*I  was  in  my  buggy  on  the  highroad,"  he 
continued.  ^'There  was  a  constant  passing  by 
of  all  kinds  of  vehicles  on  their  way  to  and  from 
the  Ocumpangh  entertainment,  but  none  that 
attracted  my  attention  till  I  caught  sight  of  the 
covered  wagon  I  have  endeavored  to  describe, 
being  driven  out  of  the  adjoining  grounds. 
Then  I  pricked  up  my  ears,  for  a  child  was 
crying  inside  in  the  smothered  way  that  tells  of 
a  hand  laid  heavily  over  the  mouth.  I  thought 
I  knew  what  child  this  was,  but  you  have  been 
a  witness  to  my  disappointment  after  forty- 
eight  hours  of  travel  behind  that  wretched 
wagon." 

"It  came  out  of  Mrs.  Carew's  grounds?"  I 
repeated,  ignoring  everything  but  the  one  im- 
portant fact  "And  during  the  time,  you  say, 
when  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's  guests  were  assem- 
bling? Did  you  see  any  other  vehicle  leave  by 
the  same  gate  at  or  before  that  time  ?" 

"Yes,  a  carriage.  It  appeared  to  have  no  one 
in  it  Indeed,  I  know  that  it  was  empty,  for 
I  peered  into  it  as  it  rolled  by  me  down  the 
103 


THE  MILLIOXAIKE  BABY 

street  Of  coui^se  I  do  not  know  what  might 
have  been  under  the  seats." 

''Nothing/'  was  my  sharp  retort  "That  was 
the  carriage  in  which  Mrs.  Carew  had  come  up 
from  the  train.  Did  it  pass  out  before  the 
wagon  ?" 

^^Yes,  by  some  minutes." 

'There  is  nothing,  then,  to  be  gained  by  that" 

"There  does  not  seem  to  be." 

Was  his  accent  in  uttering  tliis  simple  phrase 
peculiar?  I  looked  up  to  make  sure.  But  his 
face,  which  had  been  eloquent  with  one  feeling 
or  another  during  eveiy  minute  of  this  long  in- 
terview till  the  present  instant,  looked  strange- 
ly impassive,  and  I  did  not  know  how  to  press 
the  question  hovering  on  my  lips. 

"You  have  given  me  a  heavy  task,"  I  finally 
remarked,  "and  you  offer  very  little  assistance 
in  tlie  way  of  conjecture.  Yet  you  must  have 
formed  some." 

He  toyed  with  his  beard,  combing  it  with 
his  nervous,  muscular  fingers,  and  as  I  watched 
how  he  lingered  over  the  tips,  caressing  them 
before  he  dropped  them,  I  felt  that  he  was  toy- 
ing with  my  perplexities  in  much  the  same 
fashion  and  with  an  equal  satisfaction.  Angry 
104 


^TliSTD  THE  CHILD  !'* 

and  out  of  all  patience  with  him,  I  blurted 
out: 

"I  will  do  without  your  aid.  I  will  solve  this 
mystery  and  earn  your  money  if  not  that  of 
Mr.  Ocumpaugh,  with  no  assistance  save  that 
afforded  by  my  ovm  wits." 

"I  expect  you  will/'  he  retorted ;  and  for  the 
first  time  since  I  burst  in  upon  him  like  one 
dropping  from  the  clouds  through  the  unap- 
proachable doorway  on  the  upper  floor,  he  lost 
that  look  of  extreme  tension  which  had  nerved 
his  aged  figiire  into  sometliing  of  the  aspect  of 
youth.  With  it  vanished  his  impressiveness.  It 
was  simply  a  tired  old  man  I  now  followed  up- 
stairs to  the  side  door.  As  I  paused  to  give 
him  a  final  nod  and  an  assurance  of  intended 
good  faith  toward  him,  he  made  a  kindly 
enough  gesture  in  the  direction  of  my  old  room 
below  and  said: 

"Don't  worry  about  the  little  fellow  down 
there.  He'll  come  out  all  right.  I  shan't 
visit  on  him  the  extravagance  of  my  own  folly. 
I  am  a  Christian  now."  And  with  this  en- 
couraging remark  he  closed  the  door  and  I 
found  myself  alone  in  the  dark  alley. 

My  first  sense  of  relief  came  from  the  coolness 
105 


J 


THE  MILLIOIS^AIRE  BABY 

of  the  night  air  on  mj  flushed  forehead  and 
cheeks.  After  the  stifling  atmosphere  of  this 
underground  room,  reeking  with  the  fumes  of 
the  lamp  and  the  heat  of  a  struggle  which  his 
dogged  confidence  in  himself  had  made  so  im- 
equal,  it  was  pleasurable  just  to  sense  the  quiet 
and  the  cool  of  the  night  and  feel  myself  re- 
leased from  the  bondage  of  a  presence  from 
which  I  had  frequently  recoiled  but  had  never 
thoroughly  felt  the  force  of  till  to-night;  my 
next,  from  the  touch  and  voice  of  my  partner 
who  at  that  moment  rose  from  before  the  base- 
ment windows  where  he  had  evidently  been 
lying  for  a  long  time  outstretched. 

*^What  have  you  two  been  doing  down  there  V* 
was  his  very  natural  complaint  "I  tried  to 
listen,  I  tried  to  see ;  but  beyond  a  few  scattered 
words  when  your  voices  rose  to  an  excited  pitch, 
I  have  learned  nothing  but  that  you  were  in  no 
danger  save  from  the  overthrow  of  your  scheme. 
That  has  failed,  has  it  not?  You  would  have 
interrupted  me  long  ago  if  you  had  found  the 
child." 

"Yes,"  I  acknowledged;  drawing  him  down 
the  alley,  "I  have  failed  for  to-night,  but  I  start 
afresh  to-morrow.  Though  how  I  can  rest  idle 
106 


"FIND  THE  CHILD !" 

for  nine  hours,  not  knowing  under  what  roof, 
if  under  any,  that  doomed  innocent  may  be 
lying,  I  do  not  know." 

^'YovL  must  rest;  you  are  staggering  with 
fatigue  now." 

''Xot  a  bit  of  it,  only  with  uncertainty.  I 
don't  see  my  way.  Let  us  go  down  street  and 
see  if  any  news  has  come  over  the  wires  since  I 
left  Homewood." 

''But  first,  what  a  spooky  old  house  that  is! 
And  what  did  the  old  gentleman  have  to  say  of 
your  tumbling  in  on  him  from  space  without  a 
'By  your  leave'  or  even  an  'Excuse  me'  ?  Tell 
me  about  it." 

I  told  him  enough  to  allay  his  curiosity. 
That  was  all  I  thought  necessary, — and  he 
eeemed  satisfied.  Jupp  is  a  good  fellow,  quite 
willing  to  confine  himseK  to  his  particular  end 
of  the  business  which  does  not  include  the 
thinking  end.     Why  should  it  ? 

There  was  no  news — this  we  &oon  learned — 
only  some  hints  of  a  contemplated  move  on  the 
part  of  the  police  in  a  district  where  some  low 
characters  had  been  seen  dragging  along  a  re- 
sisting child  of  an  unexpectedly  refined  appear- 
ance. As  no  one  could  d^cribe  this  child  and 
107 


THE  MILLIOIS^AIRE  BABY 

as  I  had  refused  from  the  first  to  look  upon  this 
case  as  one  of  ordinary  abduction,  I  laid  little 
stress  on  the  report,  destined  though  it  was  to 
appear  under  startling  head-lines  on  the  mor- 
row, and  startled  my  more  credulous  partner 
quite  out  of  his  usual  equanimity,  by  ordering 
him  on  our  arrival  at  the  station  to  buy  me  a 
ticket  for ,  as  I  was  going  back  to  Home- 
wood. 

"To  Homewood,  so  late!" 

"Exactly.  It  will  not  be  late  there — or  if  it 
is,  anxious  hearts  make  light  sleepers." 

His  shoulders  rose  a  trifle,  but  he  bought  the 
ticket 


108' 


^ 


vni 

"PHILO  !  PHILO  !  PHILO  !'' 

Never  have  I  felt  a  wierder  sensation  than 
when  I  stepped  from  the  cars  on  to  the 
solitary  platform  from  which  a  few  hours 
before  I  had  seen  the  little  nursery-gov- 
erness depart  for  New  York.  The  train,  soon 
to  disappear  in  the  darkness  of  the  long  per- 
spective, was  all  that  gave  life  and  light  to  the 
scene,  and  when  it  was  gone,  nothing  remained 
to  relieve  the  gloom  or  to  break  the  universal 
stillness  save  the  quiet  lap  of  the  water  and 
the  moaning  of  the  wind  through  the  trees 
which  climbed  the  heights  to  Homewood. 

I  had  determined  to  enter  if  possible  by  way 
of  tlie  private  path,  though  I  expected  to  find 
it  guarded  against  just  such  intrusion.  In  ap- 
proaching it  T  was  given  a  full  view  of  the  river 
and  thus  was  in  a  position  to  note  that  the 
dock  and  adjoining  banks  were  no  longer  bright 
vdth  lanterns  in  the  hands  of  eager  men  bending 
with  fixed  eyes  over  tlie  flowing  waters.  The 
109 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

search  which  had  kept  so  many  busy  at  this  spot 
for  well  on  to  two  days  had  been  abandoned; 
and  the  darkness  seemed  doubly  dark  and  the 
silence  doubly  oppressive  in  contrast 

Yet  hope  spoke  in  the  abandonment;  and 
with  renewed  spirit  and  a  more  than  lively  cour- 
age, I  turned  toward  the  little  gate  through 
which  I  had  passed  twice  before  that  day.  As 
I  expected,  a  silent  fi^re  rose  up  from  the 
shadows  to  prevent  me ;  but  it  fell  back  at  the 
mention  of  my  name  and  business,  thus  proving 
the  man  to  be  in  the  confidence  of  Mrs.  Ocmn- 
paugh  or,  at  the  least,  in  that  of  Miss  Porter. 

''I  am  come  for  a  social  chat  with  the  coach- 
man," I  explained.  ^Tights  bum  late  in  such 
extensive  stables.  Don't  worry  about  me.  The 
people  at  the  house  are  in  sympathy  with  my 
investigation. '^ 

Thus  we  stretch  the  truth  at  great  crises. 

^^I  know  you,"  was  the  answer.  ^^But  keep 
away  from  the  house.  Our  orders  are  impera- 
tive to  allow  no  one  to  approach  it  again  to- 
night, except  with  the  child  in  hand  or  with  such 
news  as  would  gain  instant  admission." 

"Trust  me,"  said  I,  as  I  went  up  the  steps. 

It  was  so  dark  bet^-een  the  hedge-rows  that 
110 


'THILO!  PHILO!  PHILO!" 

my  ascent  became  mere  groping.  I  had  a 
lantern  in  my  pocket  which  I  had  taken  from 
Jupp,  but  I  did  not  choose  to  make  use  of  it 
I  preferred  to  go  on  and  up,  trusting  to  mj 
instinct  to  tell  me  when  I  had  reached  a  fresh 
flight  of  steps. 

A  gleam  of  light  from  Mrs.  Carew's  upper 
windows  was  the  first  intimation  I  received  that 
I  was  at  the  top  of  the  bank,  and  in  another 
moment  I  was  opposite  the  gap  in  the  hedge 
opening  upon  her  grounds. 

For  no  particular  reason  that  I  know  of,  I 
here  paused  and  took  a  long  survey  of  what  was, 
after  all,  notliing  but  a  cluster  of  shadows 
broken  here  and  there  by  squares  of  subdued 
light  I  felt  a  vague  desire  to  enter — to  see 
and  talk  again  with  the  charming  woman  whose 
personality  had  made  such  an  impression  upon 
me,  if  only  to  understand  the  peculiar  feelings 
which  those  indistinguishable  walls  awakened, 
and  why  such  a  sense  of  anticipation  should 
disturb  my  admiration  of  this  woman  and  the 
delight  which  I  had  experienced  in  every  accent 
of  her  trained  and  exquisite  voice. 

I  was  standing  very  still  and  in  almost  total 
darkness.      The    shock,    therefore,    w^aa    gr»at 

111 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

when,  in  finally  making  up  mj  mind  to  move, 
I  became  conscious  of  a  presence  near  me,  to- 
tally indiscernible  and  as  silent  as  myself. 

Whose  ? 

!No  watchman,  or  he  would  have  spoken  at 
the  rustle  I  made  stumbling  back  against  the 
hedge-row.  Some  marauder,  then,  or  a  detect- 
ive, like  myself?  I  would  not  waste  time  in 
speculating;  better  to  decide  the  question  at 
onoe,  for  the  situation  was  eery,  the  person,  who- 
ever he  was,  stood  so  near  and  so  still,  and  so 
directly  in  the  way  of  my  advance. 

Drawing  the  lantern  from  my  pocket,  I 
pushed  open  the  slide  and  flashed  the  light  on 
the  immovable  figure  before  me.  The  face  I 
beheld  staring  into  mine  was  one  quite  un- 
known to  me,  but  as  I  took  in  ita  expression, 
my  arm  gradually  fell,  and  with  it  the  light 
from  the  man's  features,  till  face  and  form 
were  lost  again  in  the  darkness,  leaving  in  my 
disturbed  mind  naught  but  an  impression;  but 
such  an  impression! 

The  countenance  thus  flashed  upon  my  vis- 
ion must  have  been  a  haunting  one  at  any 
time,  but  seen  as  I  saw  it,  at  a  moment  of  ex- 
treme self-abandoBment,  the  effect  was  start- 
up 


"PHILO!  PHILO!  PHILOr 

ling.  Yet  I  had  siifficient  control  over  myself 
to  utter  a  word  or  t^vo  of  apology,  Tvhich  was 
not  answered,  if  it  was  even  heard. 

A  more  exact  description  may  be  advisable. 
The  person  whom  I  thus  encountered  hesitatr 
ing  before  Mrs.  Careers  house  was  a  man  of 
meager  build,  sloping  shoulders  and  handsome 
but  painfully  pinched  features.  That  he  wa3 
a  gentleman  of  culture  and  the  nicest  refine- 
ment was  evident  at  first  glance;  that  this  cul- 
ture and  refinement  were  at  this  moment  un- 
der the  dominion  of  some  fierce  thought  or  re- 
solve was  equally  apparent,  giving  to  his  look 
an  absorption  which  the  shock  attending  the 
glare  I  had  thus  suddenly  thrown  on  his  face 
could  not  immediately  dispel. 

Dazed  by  an  encounter  for  which  he  seemed 
even  less  prepared  than  myself,  he  stood  with 
his  heart  in  his  face,  if  I  may  so  speak,  and 
only  gi'a dually  came  to  himself  as  the  sense  of 
my  proximity  forced  itself  in  upon  his  suffering 
and  engrossed  mind.  When  I  saw  that  he  had 
quite  emerged  from  his  dream,  I  dropped  the 
light.  But  I  did  not  forget  his  look;  I  did 
not  forget  the  m^an,  though  I  hastened  to  leave 
him,  in  my  desire  to  fulfill  the  purpose  for 
113 


THE  millio:n^aiiie  baby 

which  I  had  entered  these  grounds  at  so  late 
an  hour. 

Mj  plan  was,  as  I  have  said,  to  visit  the 
Ocumpaugh  stables  and  have  a  chat  with  the 
coackman.  I  had  no  doubt  of  mv  welcome  and 
not  much  doubt  of  myself.  Yet  as  I  left  the 
vicinity  of  ]\Irs.  CareVs  cottage  and  came  upon 
the  great  house  of  the  Ocumpaughs  looming  in 
the  moonlight  above  its  marble  terraces,  I  felt 
impressed  as  never  before  both  by  the  beauty 
and  magnificence  of  the  noble  pile,  and  shrank 
with  something  like  shame  from  the  presump- 
tion which  had  led  me  to  pit  my  wits  against  a 
mystery  having  its  birth  in  so  much  grandeur 
and  material  power.  The  prestige  of  great 
wealth  as  embodied  in  this  superb  structure 
well-nigh  awed  me  from  my  task  and  I  was 
passing  the  twin  pergolas  and  flower-bordered 
walks  with  hesitating  foot,  when  I  heard 
through  one  of  the  open  windows  a  cry  which 
made  me  forget  everything  but  our  common 
heritage  of  sorrow  and  the  equal  hold  it  has  on 
high  and  low. 

"Philo !"  the  voice  rang  out  in  a  misery  to 
wring  the  heart  of  the  most  callous.  ^Thilo! 
Philol'' 

lU 


"PHILO!  PHILO!  PHILO!" 

Mr.  Ocumpaugh's  name  called  aloud  by  his 
suffering  wife.  Was  she  in  delirium  ?  It  would 
seem  so ;  but  why  Philo !  always  Philo !  and  not 
once  Gwendolen  ? 

With  hushed  steps,  ears  ringing  and  heart 
palpitating  with  new  and  indefinable  sensa- 
tions, I  turned  into  the  road  to  the  stables. 

There  were  men  about  and  I  caught  one 
glimpse  of  a  maid's  pretty  head  looking  from 
one  of  the  rear  windows,  but  no  one  stopped  me, 
and  I  reached  the  stable  just  as  a  man  came 
sauntering  out  to  take  his  final  look  at  the 
weather. 

It  was  the  fellow  I  sought,  Thomas  the  coach- 
man. 

I  had  not  miscalculated  the  nature  of  my 
man.  In  ten  minutes  we  were  seated  together 
on  an  open  balcony,  smoking  and  beguiling  the 
time  with  a  little  harmless  gossip.  After  a  free 
and  easy  discussion  of  the  great  event,  mingled 
with  the  naturally-to-be-expected  criticism  of 
the  police,  we  proceeded  under  my  guidance  to 
those  particulars  for  which  I  had  risked  losing 
this  very  valuable  hour. 

He  mentioned  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh;  I  men- 
tioned Mrs.  Carew. 

116 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY. 

"A  beautiful  woman,"  I  remarked. 

I  thought  he  looked  astonished.  ^^She  beau- 
tiful ?"  was  his  doubtful  rejoinder.  "What  do 
you  think  of  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  ?" 

"She  is  handsome,  too,  but  in  a  different 
way." 

"I  should  think  so.  I've  driven  rich  and  IVe 
driven  poor.  I've  even  sat  on  the  box  in  front 
of  an  English  duchess,  but  never  have  I  seen 
such  features  as  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's.  That's 
why  I  consent  to  drive  an  American  million- 
aire's wife  when  I  might  be  driving  the  English 
nobility." 

"A  statue!"  said  I;  "cold!" 

"True  enough,  but  one  you  never  tire  of  look- 
ing at.  Besides,  she  can  light  up  wonderfully. 
I've  seen  her  when  she  was  all  a-quiver,  and 
lovely  as  the  loveliest  And  when  do  you  think 
that  was  ?" 

"When  she  had  her  child  in  her  arms." 

I  spoke  in  lowered  tones  as  befitted  the  sug- 
gestion and  the  circumstances. 

"E"o,"  he  drawled,  between  thoughtful  puffs 

of  smoke;  "when  Mr.  Ocumpaugh  sat  on  the 

seat  beside  her.     This,  when  I  was  driving  the 

victoria.      I   often   used   to   make   excuse   for 

116 


*THILO!  PHILO!  PHILO!" 


turning  mj  head  about  so  as  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  her  smile  at  some  fine  view  and  the  way  she 
looked  up  at  him  to  see  if  he  was  enjoving  it  as 
much  as  she.  I  like  women  who  love  their 
husbands.'' 

"And  he?" 

"Oh,  she  has  nothing  to  complain  of  in  him. 
He  worships  the  gi'ound  she  walks  on;  and  he 
more  than  worshiped  the  child." 

Here  his  voice  fell. 

I  brought  the  conversation  back  as  quickly  as 
I  could  to  Mrs.  Carew. 

"You  like  pale  women,"  said  I.  "Xow  I  like 
a  woman  who  looks  plain  one  minute,  and 
perfectly  charming  the  next" 

"That's  what  people  say  of  Mrs.  Carew.  I 
know  of  lots  who  admire  tliat  kind.  The  little 
girl  for  one." 

"Gwendolen?  Was  she  attracted  to  Mrs. 
Carew?" 

"Attracted  ?  I've  seen  her  go  to  her  from  her 
mother's  lap  like  a  bird  to  its  nest.  Many  a 
time  have  I  driven  the  can-iage  with.  ^Irs. 
Ocumpaugh  sitting  up  straight  inside,  and  her 
child  curled  up  in  this  other  woman's  arms  with 
not  a  look  or  word  for  her  mother," 
117 


THE  MILLIOXAIEE  BABY 

"How  did  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  seem  to  like 
that  ?"  I  asked  between  puffs  of  mj  cigar. 

^•'Oh,  she's  one  of  the  cold  ones,  jou  know  I 
At  least  you  say  so ;  but  I  feel  sure  that  for  the 
last  three  years — that  is,  ever  since  this  woman 
came  into  the  neighborhood — her  heart  has  been 
slowly  breaking.     This  last  bloAv  will  kill  her." 

I  thought  of  the  moaning  cry  of  ^Thilo ! 
Philo !"  which  at  intervals  I  still  seemed  to  hear 
issue  from  that  upper  window  in  the  great 
house,  and  felt  that  there  might  be  truth  in  his 
fears. 

But  it  was  of  AErs.  Carew  I  had  come  to  talk 
and  not  of  Mrs.  OcumpaugK 

"Children's  fancies  are  unaccountable,"  I 
sententiously  remarked;  ^'but  perhaps  there  is 
some  excuse  for  this  one.  Airs.  Carew  has 
what  you  call  magnetism — a  personality  which 
I  should  imagine  would  be  very  appealing  to  a 
child.  I  never  saw  such  expression  in  a  human 
face.  Whatever  her  mood,  she  impresses  each 
passing  feeling  upon  you  as  the  one  reality  of 
her  life.  I  can  not  understand  such  changes, 
but  they  are  very  fascinating." 

"Oh,  they  are  easy  enough  to  understand  in 
h^r  case.  She  was  an  actress  once.  I  myself 
118 


"PHILO!  PHILO!  PHILO!'^ 

have  seen  her  on  the  stage — in  London.  I  used 
to  admire  her  there." 

^'An  actress!"  I  repeated,  somewhat  taken 
aback. 

"Yes,  I  forget  what  name  she  played  under. 
But  she's  a  veiy  great  lady  now ;  in  with  all  the 
swells  and  rich  enough  to  own  a  yacht  if  she 
wanted  to." 

"But  a  widow." 

"Oh,  yes,  a  widow." 

I  let  a  moment  of  silence  pass,  then  non- 
chalantly remarked: 

"Why  is  she  going  to  Europe  ?" 

But  this  was  too  much  for  my  simple-hearted 
friend.  He  neither  knew  nor  had  any  conjee- 
tare  ready.  But  I  saw  that  he  did  not  deplore 
her  resolve.  His  reason  for  this  presently  ap- 
peared. 

"If  the  little  one  is  found,  the  mother  will 
want  all  her  caresses.  Let  Mrs.  Carew  hug  the 
boy  that  God  in  his  mercy  has  tlirown  int-o  her 
arms  and  leave  other  children  to  their  mothers." 

I  rose  to  leave,  when  I  bethought  me  and 
stopped  to  ask  another  question. 

"Who  is  the  gentleman  I  have  seen  about 
here — a  man  with  a  handsome  face,  but  very 
119 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

pale  and  thin  in  his  appearance,  so  much  bo 
that  it  is  quite  noticeable?" 

''Do  you  mean  Mr.  Rathbone?'* 

"I  do  not  know  his  name.  A  light  oomplex- 
ioned  man,  who  looks  as  if  greatly  afflicted 
by  some  disease  or  secret  depression." 

''Oh,  that  is  Mr.  Rathbone,  sure.  He  is 
Bickly-looking  enough  and  not  without  his 
trouble,  too.  They  say — but  it's  all  gossip,  of 
course — that  he  has  set  his  heart  on  the  wid- 
ow." 

"Mrs.  Carew?" 

"Of  course,  who  else  ?" 

"And  she?" 

"Why,  she  would  be  a  fool  to  care  for  him, 
unless — " 

"Unless  what?" 

Thomas  laughed — a  little  uneasily,  I  could 
not  help  thinking. 

"I'm  afraid  we're  talking  scandal,"  said  he. 
"You  know  the  relationship  ?" 

"What  relationship?" 

"Why,  his  relationship  to  the  family.  He 
is  Gwendolen's  cousin  and  I  have  heard  it  said 
that  he's  named  after  her  in  Madam  Ocum- 
paugh's  will." 

120 


'THILO!  PHILO:   PHILOP' 

"O,  I  see !     The  next  heir,  eh  V 

*^Yes,  to  the  Rathhone  property." 

"So  that  if  she  is  not  found — " 

^'Yonr  sickly  man,  in  that  case,  would  be 
well  worth  the  marrying.'- 

*'Is  Mrs.  Carew  so  fond  of  money  as  all 
that?  I  thought  she  was  a  woman  of  prop- 
erty." 

"She  is;  but  it  takes  money  to  make  some 
men  interesting.  He  isn't  handsome  enough, 
or  independent  enough  to  go  entirely  on  his 
own  merits.  Besides,  he  has  a  troop  of  rel- 
atives hanging  on  to  him — blood-suckers  who 
more  than  eat  up  his  salary." 

"A  business  man,  then?" 

"Yes,  in  some  Xew  York  house.  He  was 
always  very  fond  of  Gwendolen,  and  I  am  not 
surprised  to  hear  that  he  is  very  much  cut  up 
by  our  trouble.  I  always  thought  well  of  Mr. 
Rathbone  myself," — which  same  ended  the  con- 
versation so  far  as  my  interest  in  it  was  con- 
cerned. 


121 


IX 

THE   BUNGALOW 

As  soon  as  I  could  break  away  and  leave  him 
I  did,  and  betook  myself  to  Mrs.  Carew's  house. 
My  resolve  was  taken.  Late  as  it  was,  I  would 
attempt  an  interview  with  her.  The  lights  still 
burning  above  and  below  gave  me  the  necessary 
courage.  Yet  I  was  conscious  of  some  embar- 
rassment in  presenting  my  name  to  the  aston- 
ished maid,  who  was  in  the  act  of  extinguishing 
the  hall-light  when  my  vigorous  ring  prevented 
her.  Seeing  her  doubtful  look  and  th^  hesita- 
tion with  which  she  held  the  door,  I  told  her 
that  I  would  wait  outside  on  the  porch  till  she 
had  carried  up  my  name  to  Mrs.  Carew.  This 
seemed  to  relieve  her  and  in  a  moment  I  was 
standing  again  under  the  vines  waiting  for 
permission  to  enter  the  house.  It  came  very 
soon,  and  I  had  to  conquer  a  fresh  embarrass- 
ment at  the  sight  of  Mrs.  Carew^s  nimble  and 
gracious  figure  descending  the  stairs  in  all 
eagerness  to  greet  me. 

122 


THE  BUNGALOW. 

"Wbat  is  it?"  she  asked,  running  hastily 
forward  so  that  we  met  in  the  center  of  the  halh 
'^Good  news  ?  Nothing  else  could  have  brought 
you  back  again  so  soon — and  at  an  hour  so  late." 

There  was  a  dangerous  naivete  in  the  way  she 
uttered  the  last  three  words  which  made  me 
suspect  the  actress.  Indeed  I  was  quita 
conscious  as  I  met  her  thrilling  and  expressive 
glance,  that  I  should  never  feel  again  the  same 
confidence  in  her  sincerity.  My  judgment  had 
been  confounded  and  my  insight  rendered  help- 
less by  what  I  had  heard  of  her  art,  and  the  fact 
that  she  had  once  been  a  capable  player  of 
^^parts." 

But  I  was  man  enough  and  detective  enough 
not  to  betray  my  suspicion,  now  that  I  was 
brought  face  to  face  with  her.  It  had  always 
been  latent  in  my  breast,  even  in  the  very  midst 
of  my  greatest  admiration  for  her.  Yet  I  had 
never  acknowledged  to  myself  of  what  I  sus- 
pected her,  nor  did  I  now — ^not  quite — not 
enough  to  give  that  point  to  my  attack  which 
vrould  have  insured  me  immediate  victory  or 
defeat.  I  was  obliged  to  feel  my  way  and  so 
answered,  with  every  appearance  of  friendly 
confidence : 

W3 


THE  MILLIO^s^AIEE  BABY 

"I  fear  tlien  that  I  shall  be  obliged  to  ask  your 
pardon.  I  have  no  good  news;  rather  what 
might  be  called,  if  not  bad,  of  a  very  perplexing 
character.  The  child  has  been  traced" — here 
I  purposely  let  my  voice  halt  for  an  instant — 
'^here." 

"Here?"  her  eyes  opened,  her  lips  parted  in 
a  look  of  surprise  so  ingenuous  that  involun- 
tarily I  felt  forced  to  add,  by  way  of  explana- 
tion: 

"The  child,  I  mean,  who  was  carried  scream- 
ing along  the  highway  in  a  wagon  and  for  whom 
the  police — and  others — have  for  two  days  been 
looking." 

"Oh!"  she  ejaculated  with  a  slight  turn  of 
her  head  aside  as  she  motioned  me  toward  a 
chair.  "And  is  that  child  Gwendolen?  Or 
don't  you  know  ?"  She  was  all  eagerness  as  she 
again  faced  me. 

"That  will  be  known  to-morrow,"  I  rejoined, 
resisting  the  beautiful  brightness  of  her  face 
with  an  effort  that  must  have  left  its  mark  on 
my  own  features;  for  she  smiled  with  uncon- 
scious triumph  as  she  held  my  eyes  for  a  minute 
in  hers  saying  softly,  "0  how  you  excite  me! 
Tell  me  more.  Where  was  the  wagon  found? 
J24 


THE  BUKGALOW 

Wlio  is  with  it  ?    And  how  much  of  all  this  have 
you  told  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  ?'' 

With  the  last  question  she  had  risen,  involun- 
tarily, it  seemed,  and  as  though  she  would  rush 
to  her  friend  if  I  did  not  at  once  reassure  her 
of  that  friend's  knowledge  of  a  fact  which 
seemed  to  throw  a  gleam  of  hope  upon  a 
situation  hitherto  entirely  unrelieved. 

"Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  has  been  told  nothing,''  I 
hastily  returned,  answering  the  last  and  most 
important  question  first.  ^'Xor  must  she  be ;  at 
least  not  till  certainty  replaces  doubt  She  is  in 
a  critical  state,  I  am  told.  To  rouse  her  hopes 
lO-night  only  to  dash  them  again  to-moiTOW 
would  be  cruel  policy." 

With  her  eyes  still  on  my  face,  Mrs.  Carew 
slowly  reseated  herself.  "Then  there  are 
doubts,"  she  faltered;  "doubts  of  its  being 
Gwendolen  ?" 

''There  is  always  doubt,"  I  replied,  and  open- 
ly paused  in  manifest  non-committal. 

"Oh !"  she  somewhat  wildly  exclaimed,  cover- 
ing her  face  with  her  hands — ^beautiful  hands 
covered  with  jewels — "what  suspense !  what  bit- 
ter and  cruel  suspense !  I  feel  it  almost  as  much 
as  if  it  were  my  Harry !"  was  the  final  cry  with 
125 


THE  MILLIOiX-AIRE  BABY 

which  she  dropped  them  again.  And  she  did 
feel  it.  Her  features  had  blanched  and  her 
form  was  shaking.  ^^But  you  have  not  answered 
my  questions  as  to  where  this  wagon  is  at  pres- 
ent and  under  whose  care  ?  Can't  you  see  how 
anxious  I  must  be  about  that — if  it  should  prove 
to  be  Gwendolen?" 

'•Mrs.  Carew,  if  I  could  tell  you  that,  I  could 
tell  you  more;  we  shall  both  have  to  wait  till 
to-morrow.  Meanwhile,  I  have  a  favor  to  ask. 
Have  you  by  any  chance  the  means  of  entrance 
to  the  bungalow  ?  I  have  a  great  and  inappeas- 
able  desire  to  see  for  myself  if  all  the  nooks  and 
corners  of  that  place  have  given  up  their  secrets. 
It's  an  egotistical  desire,  no  doubt — and  may 
strike  you  as  folly  of  the  rankest — but  we  detec- 
tives have  learned  to  trust  nobody  in  our  investi- 
gations, and  I  shall  never  be  satisfied  till  I  have 
looked  this  whole  spot  over  inch  by  inch  for  the 
clue  which  may  yet  remain  there.  If  there  is  a 
clue  I  must  find  it" 

''Clue  ?"  She  was  looking  at  me  a  little 
breathlessly.  "Clue  to  what  ?  Then  she  wasn't 
in  the  wagon;  you  are  still  seeking  her — " 

"Always  seeking  her,"  I  put  in, 

"But  surely   not   in    the  bungalow  I"    Mrs. 
126 


THE  BimGALOW 


Carew's  expression  ^as  one  of  extreme  surprise. 
''What  can  jou  find  there  V 

''1  do  not  know.  But  I  want  to  look.  I  can 
go  to  the  house  for  a  key,  but  it  is  late;  and 
it  seems  unpardonable  to  disturb  Mrs.  Ocum- 
paugh.  Yet  I  shall  have  to  do  this  if  you  have 
not  a  key ;  for  I  shall  not  sleep  till  I  have  satis- 
fied myself  that  nothing  can  be  discovered  on 
the  immediate  scene  of  Gwendolen's  disappear- 
ance, to  help  forward  the  rescue  we  both  are  so 
intent  upon." 

'^ou  are  right,"  was  the  hesitating  reply  I 
received.  "I  have  a  key ;  I  will  fetch  it  and  if 
you  do  not  mind,  I  will  accompany  you  to  the 
bungalow." 

"iSTothing  would  give  me  greater  pleasure,"  I 
replied  with  my  best  bow ;  white  lies  come  easy 
in  our  trade. 

"I  will  not  keep  you  a  minute,"  she  said,  ris- 
ing and  going  into  the  hall.  But  in  an  instant 
she  was  back.  "A  word  to  my  maid  and  a 
covering  for  my  head,"  she  explained,  "and  I 
will  be  with  you."  Her  manner  pointed  unmis- 
takably to  the  door. 

I  had  no  alternative  but  to  step  out  on  the 
poroh  to  await  her.  But  she  was  true  to  her 
127 


THE  MILLIO^'^AIKE  BABY 

word  and  in  a  moment  she  had  joined  me,  witii 
the  key  in  her  hand. 

"Oh,  what  adventures  !'^  was  her  breathless 
cry.  "Shall  I  ever  forget  this  dreadful,  this 
interminable  week !  But  it  is  dark.  Even  the 
moon  is  clouded  over.  How  shall  we  see? 
There  are  no  lights  in  the  bungalow." 

"I  have  a  lantern  in  my  pocket  My  only 
hope  is  that  no  stray  gleam  from  it  may  pierce 
the  shrubbery  and  bring  the  police  upon  us." 

"Do  you  fear  the  police  ?"  she  chatted  away, 
almost  as  a  child  might 

"!N'o ;  but  I  want  to  do  my  work  alone.  There 
will  be  little  glory  or  little  money  in  it  if  they 
share  any  of  my  discoveries." 

"Ah!"  It  was  an  irrepressible  exclamation, 
or  so  it  seemed :  but  I  should  not  have  noted  it 
if  I  had  not  caught,  or  persuaded  myself  that  I 
had  caught,  the  oblique  glint  from  her  eye  which 
accompanied  it.  But  it  was  very  dark  just  at 
this  time  and  I  could  be  sure  of  nothing  but 
that  she  kept  close  to  my  side  and  seemed  more 
than  once  on  the  point  of  addressing  me  in  the 
short  dist-ance  we  traversed  before  reaching  the 
bungalow.  But  nothing  save  inarticulate  mur- 
murs left  her  lips  and  soon  we  were  too  busy,  in 
128 


THE  BUNGALOW 


our  endeavors  to  -unlock  the  door,  to  think  of 
conversation. 

The  key  she  had  brought  was  rusty.  Evi- 
dently she  had  not  often  made  use  of  it  But 
after  a  few  futile  efforts  I  succ-eeded  in  making 
it  work,  and  we  stepped  into  the  small  build- 
ing in  a  silence  that  was  only  less  pro- 
found than  the  darkness  in  which  we 
instantly  found  ourselves  envelope^!.  Light 
was  under  my  hand,  however,  and  in 
another  moment  there  opened  before  us  the 
small  square  room  whose  every  feature  had 
taken  on  a  ghostly  and  unfamiliar  air  from  the 
strange  hour  and  the  unwonted  circumstances. 
I  saw  how  her  impressionable  nature  was  af- 
fected by  the  scene,  and  made  haste  to  assume 
the  offhand  air  I  thought  most  likely  to  over- 
come her  apprehension.  But  the  effect  of  the 
blank  walls  before  her,  relieved,  but  in  no  reas- 
suring way,  by  the  long  dark  folds  of  the  rugs 
hanging  straight  down  over  the  myst-erious  par- 
tition, held  its  own  against  my  well-meant  ef- 
forts, and  I  was  not  surprised  to  hear  her  voice 
falter  as  she  asked  what  I  expected  to  find  there. 

I  pointed  to  a  chair  and  said : 

''If  you  will  sit  down,  I  will  ehow  you,  not 
129 


THE  MILLIOXAIEE  BABY 

what  I  expect  to  find,  but  how  a  detective  goes 
about  his  work.  Whatever  our  expectations, 
hovrever  small  or  however  great,  we  pay  full 
attention  to  details.  Xow  the  detail  which  has 
worried  me  in  regard  to  this  place  is  the  ex- 
istence of  a  certain  space  in  this  building  unac- 
counted for  bv  these  four  walls ;  in  other  words, 
the  portion  which  lies  behind  these  rugs," — and 
throwing  aside  the  same,  I  let  the  flame  from 
my  lantern  play  over  the  walled-up  space  which 
I  had  before  examined  with  little  satisfac- 
tion. "This  partition,"  I  continued,  "seems  as 
firm  as  any  of  the  walls,  but  T  want  to  make 
sure  that  it  hides  nothing.  If  the  child  should 
be  in  some  hole  back  of  this  partition,  what  a 
horror  and  what  an  outrage!" 

"But  it  is  impossible!"  came  ahnost  in  a 
shriek  from  the  woman  behind  me.  "The  open- 
ing is  completely  walled  up.  I  have  never 
known  of  its  being  otherwise.  It  looked  like 
that  when  I  came  here  three  years  ago.  There  is 
no  possible  passage  through  that  wall." 

"Why  was  it  ever  closed  up  ?    Do  you  know  ?" 

"]^ot  exactly.     The  family  are  very  reticent 

about   it      Some   fancy   of  Mr.    Ocumpaugh's 

father,  I  believe.   He  was  an  odd  man ;  they  tell 

130 


THE  BUNGALOW 

all  maimer  of  stories  about  him.  \If  anything 
offended  him,  he  rid  himself  of  it  immediately. 
He  took  a  distaste  to  that  end  of  the  hut,  as 
they  used  to  call  it  in  the  old  days  before  it 
was  remodeled  to  suit  the  house,  so  he  had  it 
walled  up.     That  is  all  we  know  about  it" 

"I  wish  I  could  see  behind  that  wall,"  I 
muttered,  dix)pping  back  the  rug  I  had  all  this 
time  held  in  my  hand.  "I  feel  some  mystery 
here  which  I  can  not  grasp."  Then  as  I  flashed 
my  lantern  about  in  every  direction  with  no 
visible  result,  added  with  the  effort  which  ac- 
companies such  disappointments:  "There  is 
nothing  here,  Mrs.  Carew.  Though  it  is  the 
scene  of  the  child's  disappearance  it  gives  me 
nothing." 


181 


TEMPTATION 

The  sharp  rustle  of  her  dress  as  she  suddenly 
rose  struck  upon  mj  ear. 

"Then  let  us  go/'  she  cried,  with  just  a  slight 
quiver  of  eagerness  in  her  wonderful  voice.  I 
comprehended  its  culture  now.  "The  place  is 
ghostly  at  this  hour  of  the  night  I  believe 
that  I  am  really  afraid." 

With  a  muttered  reassurance,  I  allowed  the 
full  light  of  the  lantern  to  fall  directly  on  her 
face.  She  was  afraid.  There  was  no  other 
explanation  possible  for  her  wild  staring  eyes 
and  blue  quivering  lips.  For  the  instant  I 
hardly  knew  her;  then  her  glance  rose  to  mine 
and  she  smiled  and  it  was  with  difficulty  T 
refrained  from  acknowledging  in  words  my 
appreciation  of  her  wonderful  flexibility  of  ex- 
pression. 

"You  are  astonished  to  see  me  so  affected/' 
she  said.     "It  is  not  so  strange  as  you  think — it 
is  superstition — the  horror  of  what  once  hap- 
132 


TEMPTATION 

pened  here — the  reason  for  that  partition — I 
know  the  whole  story,  for  all  my  att>empt3  to 
deny  it  jnst  now.  The  hour,  too,  is  unfortunate 
— the  darkness — ^your  shifting,  mysterious  light. 
It  was  late  like  this — and  dark — with  just  the 
moon  to  illumine  the  scene,  when  she — Mr. 
Trevitt,  do  you  want  to  know  the  story  of  this 
place? — the  old,  much  guessed-at,  never-really- 
understood  storv'  which  led  first  to  its  complete 
abandonment,  then  to  the  building  of  that  divid- 
ing wall  and  finally  to  the  restoration  of  this 
portion  and  of  this  alone  ?    Do  you  ?" 

Her  eagerness,  in  such  startling  contrast  to 
the  reticence  she  had  shown  on  this  very  subject 
a  few  minutes  before,  affected  me  peculiarly.  I 
wanted  to  hear  the  story — any  one  would  who 
had  listened  to  the  gossip  of  this  neighborhood 
for  years,  but — 

She  evidently  did  not  mean  to  give  me  time 
to  understand  my  own  hesitation. 

^^I  have  the  whole  history — the  touching, 
hardly-to-be-believed  history — up  at  my  house 
at  this  very  moment.  It  was  written  by — no,  I 
will  let  you  guess." 

The  naivete  of  her  smile  made  m©  forget  th« 
fore©  of  its  late  expression. 
133 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY. 

"Mr.   Ocumpaugh  ?"   I  ventured. 

"AYliich  Mr.  Ocunipaugli  ?  There  have  been 
so  many."  She  began  slowly,  naturally,  to  move 
toward  the  door. 

"I  c-an  not  guess.'* 

^Then  I  shall  have  to  tell  you.  It  was 
^vritten  by  the  one  who — Come !  I  will  tell  you 
outside.    I  haven't  any  courage  here." 

"But  I  have." 

"You  haven't  read  the  story." 

"Xever  mind ;  tell  me  who  the  writer  wa«." 

"Mr.  Ocumpaugh's  father;  he,  by  whose  or- 
ders this  partition  was  put  up." 

"Oh,  you  have  Jii^  story — written — and  by 
himself!'  You  are  fortunate,  Mrs.  Carew." 

I  had  turned  the  lantern  from  her  face,  but 
not  so  far  that  I  did  not  detect  the  deep  flush 
which  dyed  her  whole  countenance  at  these 
words. 

"I  am,"  she  emphatically  returned,  meeting 
my  eyes  with  a  steady  look  I  was  not  suf- 
ficiently expert  with  women's  ways,  or  at  all 
events  with  this  woman's  ways,  to  understand. 
"Seldom  has  such  a  tale  been  written — seldom, 
let  us  thank  God,  has  there  been  an  equal  occa- 
sion for  it" 

134 


TEMPTATION 

"You  interest  me,"  I  said. 

And  she  did.  Little  as  this  history  might 
have  to  do  with  the  finding  of  Gwendolen,  I 
felt  an  almost  imperative  necessity  of  satisfy- 
ing my  curiosity  in  regard  to  it,  though  I  knew 
she  had  deliberately  roused  this  curiosity  for  a 
purpose  which,  if  not  comprehensible  to  me,  was 
of  marked  importance  to  her  and  not  altogether 
for  the  reason  she  had  been  pleased  to  give  me. 
Possibly  it  was  on  account  of  this  last  men- 
tioned conviction  that  I  allowed  myself  to  be 
so  iaterested. 

"It  is  late,"  she  murmured  with  a  final 
glance  towards  those  dismal  hangings  which 
in  my  present  mood  I  should  not  have  been 
so  greatly  surprised  to  see  stir  luider  her  look. 
"However,  if  you  will  pardon  the  hour  and 
accept  a  seat  in  my  small  library,  I  will  show 
you  what  only  one  other  person  has  seen  be- 
sides myself." 

It  was  a  temptation;  for  several  reasons  it 
was  a  temptation;  yet — 

"I  want  you  to  see  why  I  am  frightened  <>f 
this  place,"  she  said,  flashing  her  eyes  upon 
me  with  an  almost  girlish  appeal. 

"I  will  go,"  said  I ;  and  following  her  quickly 
135 


THE  MILLIOXAIHE  BABY 

out,  I  locked  the  bungalow  door,  and  ignor- 
ing the  hand  she  extended  toward  me,  dropped 
the  key  into  my  pocket 

I  thought  I  heard  a  little  gasp — the  least, 
the  smallest  of  sounds  possible.  But  if  so,  the 
feeling  which  prompted  it  was  not  apparent 
in  her  manner  or  her  voice  as  she  led  the  way 
back  to  her  house,  and  ushered  me  into  a  hall 
full  of  packing-boxes  and  the  general  litter 
accompanying  an  approaching  departure. 

**You  will  excuse  the  disorder,"  she  cried 
as  she  piloted  me  through  these  various  en- 
cumbrances to  a  small  but  exquisitely  furnished 
room  still  glorying  in  its  full  complement  of 
ornaments  and  pictures.  "This  trouble  which 
has  come  to  one  I  love  has  made  it  very  hard 
for  me  to  do  anything.  I  feel  helpless,  at 
times,   completely  helpless." 

The  dejection  she  expressed  was  but  mo- 
mentary, however.  In  another  instant  she  was 
pointing  out  a  chair  and  begging  me  to  make 
myself  comfortable  while  she  went  for  the  let- 
ter (I  tliink  she  called  it  a  letter)  which  I 
had  come  there  to  read. 

What  was  I  to  think  of  her?  What  was 
I  to  think  of  myself?  And  what  would  the 
136 


TEMPTATIOX 

story  tell  me  to  warrant  the  los5  of  what  might 
have  proved  a  most  valuable  hour  ?  I  had  not 
answered  these  questions  when  she  reentered 
with  a  bundle  in  her  hand  of  discolored — I 
should  almost  call  them  mouldered — sheets  of 
much   crumpled  paper. 

^^These — ''  she  began;  then,  seeing  me  look 
at  them  with  something  like  suspicion,  she 
paused  until  she  caught  my  eye,  when  she  added 
gravely,  "these  came  to  me  from  Mrs.  Ocum- 
paugh.  How  she  got  them  you  will  have  to 
ask  her.  I  should  say,  judging  from  appear- 
ances— '^  Here  she  took  a  seat  opposite  me 
at  a  small  table  near  which  I  had  been  placed — 
"that  they  must  have  been  found  in  some  old 
chest  or  possibly  in  some  hidden  drawer  of 
one  of  those  curious  antique  desks  of  which 
more  than  one  was  discovered  in  the  garrets 
of  the  old  house  when  it  was  pulled  down 
to  give  place  to  the  new  one." 

"Is  this  letter,  as  you  call  it^  so  old?"  I 
asked. 

"It  is  dated  thirty-five  years  ago." 

"The  garret  must  have  been  a  damp  one," 
I  remarked. 

She  flashed  me  a  look — I  thought  of  it  more 

137 


Ike  milliokaiee  baby 

than  once  afterward — and  asked  ii  she  should 
do  the  reading  or  I. 

"You,"  I  rejoined,  all  afire  with  the  pros- 
pect of  listening  to  her  remarkable  voice  in 
what  I  had  every  reason  to  believe  would  call 
forth  its  full  expression.  "Only  let  me  look  at 
those  sheets  first,  and  understand  as  perfectly 
as  I  may,  just  what  it  is  you  are  going  to 
read  to  me." 

"It's  an  explanation  written  for  his  heirs  by 
Mr.  Ocumpaugh.  The  story  itself,"  she  went 
on,  handing  me  over  the  papers  she  held,  ^Tjegina 
abruptly.  From  the  way  the  sheet  is  torn  across 
at  the  top,  I  judge  that  the  narrative  itself  was 
preceded  by  some  introductory  words  now  lack- 
ing. When  I  have  read  it  to  you,  I  wall  tell 
you  what  I  think  those  introductory  words 
were." 

I  handed  back  the  sheets.  There  seemed 
to  be  a  spell  in  the  air — possibly  it  arose  from 
her  manner,  which  was  one  to  rouse  expecta- 
tion even  in  one  whose  imagination  had  not 
already  been  stirred  by  a  visit  at  night  and 
in  more  than  commonly  bewildering  company 
to  the  place  whose  dark  and  hitherto  unknown 
secret  I  was  about  to  hear. 
138 


TEMPTATION 

"I  am  ready/'  I  said,  feeling  my  strange 
position,  but  not  anxious  to  change  it  just  then 
for  anv  other  conceivable  one. 

She  drew  a  deep  breath;  again  fixed  me 
with  her  strange,  compelling  eyes,  and  with 
the  final  remark: 

^^The  present  no  longer  exists,  we  are  back 
in  the  seventies — "  began  this  enthralling  tale. 

I  did  not  move  till  the  last  line  dropped 
from  her  lips. 


189 


XI 

THE  SEOEET  OF  THE  OLD  PAVIXIOU 

I  "was  as  sane  that  night  as  I  had  ever  been 
in  my  life.  I  am  quite  sure  of  this,  though 
I  had  had  a  merry  time  enough  earlier  in  the 
evening  mth  my  friends  in  the  old  pavilion 
(that  time-honored  retreat  of  my  ancestors), 
whose  desolation  I  had  thought  to  dissipate 
with  a  little  harmless  revelry.  Wine  does  not 
disturb  my  reason — the  little  wine  I  drank 
under  that  unwholesome  roof — nor  am  I  a  man 
given  to  sudden  excitements  or  untoward  im.- 
pulses. 

Yet  this  thing  happened  to  me. 

It  was  after  leaving  the  pavilion.  My  oom- 
panions  had  all  ridden  away  and  I  was  stand- 
ing on  the  lawn  beyond  my  library  windows, 
recalling  my  pleasure  with  them  and  gazing 
somewhat  idly,  I  own,  at  that  bare  portion  of 
the  old  wall  where  the  tree  fell  a  year  ago 
(the  place  where  the  moon  strikes  with  such 
a  glitter  when  it  rides  high,  as  it  did  that 
140 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  OLD  PAVILIOK 

night),  when — believe  it  or  not,  it  is  all  one 
to  me — I  became  conscious  of  a  sudden  mental 
dread,  inexplicable  and  alarming,  which,  seiz- 
ing me  after  an  hour  of  unmixed  pleasure  and 
gaiety,  took  such  a  firm  grip  upon  my  imagi- 
nation that  I  fain  would  have  turned,  my  back 
upon  the  night  and  its  influences,  only  my 
eyes  would  not  leave  that  open  space  of  wall 
w^here  I  now  saw  pass — not  the  shadow,  but 
the  veritable  body  of  a  large,  black,  hungry- 
looking  dog,  w^hich,  while  I  looked,  turned  into 
the  open  gateway  connecting  with  the  pavilion 
and  disappeared. 

With  it  went  the  oppression  which  held  me 
spell-bound.  The  ice  melted  from  my  blood; 
I  could  move  my  limbs,  and  again  control  my 
thoughts  and  exercise  my  will. 

Forcing  a  laugh,  I  whistled  to  that  dog. 
The  lights  with  which  the  banquet  had  been 
illuminated  were  out,  and  every  servant  had 
left  the  place ;  but  the  tables  had  not  been  en- 
tirely cleared,  and  I  could  well  understand 
what  had  drawn  this  strange  animal  thither. 
I  whistled  then,  and  whistled  peremptorily; 
but  no  dog  answered  my  call.  Angry,  for  the 
rules  are  strict  at  my  stables  in  regard  to  wan- 
141 


THE  HILLIO^^AIRE  BABY 

dering  brutes,  I  strode  toward  the  pa\dlion. 
Entering  the  gi-eat  gap  in  the  wall  where  a 
gate  had  once  hung,  I  surveyed  the  dismal  in- 
terior before  me,  with  feelings  I  could  not  but 
consider  odd  in  a  strong  man  like  myself. 
Though  the  wine  was  scarcely  dry  in  the  glass 
which  an  hour  before  I  had  raised  in  this  very 
spot  amid  cheers  and  laughter,  I  found  it  a 
difficult  matter  to  reenter  there  now,  in  the 
dead  of  night,  alone  and  ^^'ithout  light 

For  this  building,  harmless  as  it  had  always 
seemed,  had  been,  in  a  way,  cursed.  For  no 
reason  that  he  ever  gave,  my  father  had  doomed 
this  ancient  adjunct  to  our  home  to  perpetual 
solitude  and  decay.  By  his  will  he  had  for- 
bidden it  to  be  destroyed — a  wish  respected  by 
my  guardians  and  afterward  by  myself — and 
though  there  was  nothing  to  hinder  its  being 
cared  for  and  in  a  manner  used,  the  dismal  in- 
fluence which  had  pervaded  the  place  ever  since 
his  death  had,  under  the  sensations  I  have  men- 
tioned, deepened  into  horror  and  an  unspeak- 
able repugnance. 

Yet  never  having  had  any  reason  to  believe 
myself  a  coward,  I  took  boldly  enough  the 
few  steps  necessary  to  carry  me  inside  ita  dia- 
142 


THE  SECKET  OF  THE  OLD  PAVILIOX 

mal  precincts;  and  meeting  with  nothing  but 
darkness  and  silence,  began  to  whistle  again 
for  the  dog  I  had  certainly  seen  enter  here. 

But  no  dog  appeared. 

Hastening  out,  I  took  mj  waj  toward  the 
stables.  As  I  did  so  I  glanced  back,  and  again 
mj  eyes  fell  on  that  place  in  the  wall  gleaming 
white  in  the  moonlight.  Again  I  felt  the  chill, 
the  horror !  Again  my  eyes  remained  glued  to 
this  one  spot;  and  again  I  beheld  the  passing 
of  that  dog,  running  with  jaws  extended  and 
head  held  low — fearsome,  uncanny,  supematu- 
' rally  horrible;  a  thing  to  flee  from,  if  one  could 
only  ilee  instead  of  standing  stock-still  on  the 
sward,  gazing  with  eyes  that  seemed  starting 
from  their  sockets  till  it  had  plunged  through 
that  gap  in  the  wall  and  again  disappeared. 

The  occult  and  the  imaginary  have  never 
appealed  to  me,  and  the  moment  I  felt  my- 
self a  man  again,  I  hurried  on  to  the  stables 
to  call  up  my  man  Jared. 

But  half-way  there  I  paused,  struck  by  an 
odd  remembrance.  This  father  of  mine,  Philu 
Ocumpaugh,  had  died,  or  so  his  old  servants 
had  said,  under  peculiar  circumstances.  I 
had    forgotten    them    till    now — such    stories 

143 


THE  MILLION AIKE  BABY 

make  poor  headway  with  me — but  if  I  was  not 
mistaken,  the  facts  were  these: 

He  had  been  ailing  long,  and  his  nurses 
had  got  used  to  the  sight  of  his  gaimt,  white 
figure  sitting  propped  up,  but  speechless,  in 
the  great  bed  opposite  the  stretch  of  blank 
wall  in  the  comer  bedroom,  where  a  picture  of 
his  first  Avife,  the  wife  of  his  youth,  had  once 
hung,  but  which,  for  some  years  now,  had 
been  removed  to  where  there  were  fewer 
shadows  and  more  sunlight  He  had  never 
been  a  talkative  man,  and  in  all  the  five  years 
of  my  own  memory  of  him,  I  had  never  heard 
him  raise  his  voice  except  in  command,  or 
when  the  duties  of  hospitality  required  it. 
!N"ow,  with  the  shadow  of  death  upon  him,  he 
was  absolutely  speechless,  and  his  nurses  were 
obliged  to  guess  at  his  wishes  by  the  movement 
of  his  hands  or  the  direction  of  his  eyes.  Yet 
he  was  not  morose,  and  sometimes  was  seen  to 
struggle  with  the  guards  holding  his  tongue, 
as  though  he  would  fain  have  loosed  himself 
from  their  inexorable  control.  Yet  he  never 
succeeded  in  doing  so,  and  the  nurses  sat  by 
and  saw  no  difference  in  him,  till  suddenly 
the  candle,  posed  on  a  table  near  by,  flickered 
144 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  OLD  PAVILION 

and  went  out,  leaving  only  moonlight  in  the 
room.  It  was  moonlight  so  brilliant  that  the 
place  seemed  brighter  than  before,  though  the 
beams  were  all  concentrated  on  one  spot,  a  blank 
space  in  the  middle  of  the  wall  upon  which  those 
two  dim  orbs  in  the  bed  were  fijxed  in  an  ex- 
pectancy none  there  understood,  for  none  knew 
that  the  summons  had  come,  and  that  for  him 
the  angel  of  death  was  at  that  moment  stand- 
ing in  the  room. 

Yet  as  moonlight  is  not  the  natural  light 
for  a  sick  man's  bedside,  one  amongst  them  had 
risen  for  another  candle,  when  something — I 
had  never  stopped  to  hear  them  say  what — 
made  him  pause  and  look  back,  when  he  saw 
distinctly  outlined  upon  the  white  wall-space 
I  have  mentioned,  the  figure — the  unimagina- 
ble figure  of  a  dog,  large,  fierce  and  hungry- 
looking,  which  dashed  by  and — was  gone. 
Simultaneously  a  cry  came  from  the  bed, 
the  first  words  for  months — '^Aline!'' — the 
name  of  his  girl-wife,  dead  and  gone  for  years. 
All  sprang ;  some  to  chase  the  dog,  one  to  aid  and 
comfort  the  sick  man.  But  no  dog  was  there, 
nor  did  he  need  comfort  more.  He  had  died 
with  that  cry  on  his  lips,  and  as  they  gazed 
i45 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

at  his  face,  sunk  low  now  in  liis  pillow  as  if 
he  had  started  up  and  fallen  back,  a  dead 
weight,  thej  felt  the  terror  of  the  moment 
grow  upon  them  till  thej^  too,  were  speechless. 
Eor  the  aged  features  were  drawn  into  lines 
of  unspeakable  anguish  and  horror. 

But  as  the  night  passed  and  morning  came, 
all  these  lines  smoothed  out,  and  when  they 
buried  him,  those  who  had  known  him  well 
talked  of  the  beautiful  serenity  which  illumined 
the  face  which,  since  their  first  remembrance  of 
him,  had  can-ied  the  secret  of  a  profound  and 
unbroken  melancholy.  Of  the  dog,  nothing  was 
said,  even  in  whispers,  till  time  had  hallowed 
that  grave,  and  the  little  children  about,  grown 
to  be  men  and  women.  Then  the  garrulity  of 
age  had  its  way. 

This  story,  and  the  images  it  called  up, 
came  like  a  shock  as  I  halted  there,  and  in- 
stead of  going  on  to  the  stables,  I  turned  my 
steps  toward  the  house,  where  I  summoned 
from  his  bed  a  certain  old  servant  who  had 
lived  longer  in  the  family  than  myself. 

Bidding  him  bring  a  lantern,  I  waited  for 
him  on  the  porch,  and  when  he  came,  I  told 
him  what  I  had  seen.     Instantly  I  knew  that 
1^6 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  OLD  PAVILIOK 

it  was  no  new  story  to  him.  He  turned  very 
pale  and  set  down  the  lantern,  which  was  shak- 
ing very  visibly  in  his  hand. 

"Did  you  look  up  <"  he  asked;  "when  you 
were  in  the  pavilion,  I  mean?" 

"]So;  why  should  I?    The  dog  was  on  the 
ground.     Besides — " 

"Let  us  go  down  to  the  paviUon,"  he  whisr 
pered.     "I  want  to  see  for  myself  if— if— " 
"If  what,  Jared?" 

He  turned  his  eyes  on  me,  but  did  not  an- 
swer. Stooping,  I  lifted  the  lantern  and  put 
it  in  his  hand.  He  was  quaking  like  a  leaf, 
but  there  was  a  determination  in  his  face  far 
beyond  the  ordinary.  What  made  him  quake 
—he  who  knew  of  this  dog  only  by  hearsay— 
and  what,  in  spite  of  this  fear,  gave  him  such 
resolution  ?    I  followed  in  his  wake  to  see  what 

it  was. 

The  moon  still  shone  clear  upon  the  lawn, 
and  it  was  with  a  certain  renewal  of  my  for- 
mer apprehensions  that  I  approached  the  spot 
on  the  wall  where  I  had  seen  what  I  was  sat- 
isfied not  to  see  again.  But  though  I  glanced 
that  way— what  man  could  have  avoided  it?— 
I  perceived  nothing  but  the  bare  paint,  and 
147 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

we  went  on   and  passed   in  without   a   word, 
Jared  leading  the  way. 

But  once  on  the  threshold  of  the  pavilion  it- 
self, it  was  for  him  to  show  the  coward.  Turn- 
ing, he  made  me  a  gesture;  one  I  did  not  un- 
derstand ;  and  seeing  that  I  did  not  understand 
it,  he  said,  after  a  fearful  look  around: 

"Do  not  mind  the  dog;  tliat  was  but  an  ap- 
pearance. Lift  your  eyes  to  the  ceiling — over 
there — at  the  extreme  end  toward  the  south — 
do  you  see — what  do  you  see?" 

"Nothing,"  I  replied,  amazed  at  what  struck 
me  as  utter  folly. 

"Nothing?"  he  repeated  in  a  relieved  voice, 
as  he  lifted  up  his  lantern.  "Ah!"  came  in 
a  sort  of  muttered  shriek  from  his  lips,  as  he 
pointed  up,  here  and  there,  along  the  farther 
ceiling,  over  which  the  light  now  played  freely 
and  fully.  "What  is  that  spot,  and  that  spot, 
and  that?  They  were  not  there  to-day.  I  was 
in  here  before  the  banquet,  and  /  would  have 
seen.  What  is  it  ?  Master,  what  is  it  ?  They 
call  it—" 

"Well,  well,  what  do  they  call  it  ?"  I  asked 
impatiently. 

"Blood!     Do  you  not  see  that  it  is  blood? 
148 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  OLD  PAVILION. 

What  else  is  red  and  shiny  and  shows  in  sudi 
great  drops — '^ 

''Xonsense !''  I  vociferated,  taking  the  lan- 
tern in  my  own  hand.  ^ 'Blood  on  the  ceiling 
of  my  old  pavilion  i  Where  could  it  come 
from?  There  was  no  quarrel,  no  fight;  only 
hilarity—" 

"^Vhere  did  the  dog  come  from?"  he  whis- 
pered. 

I  dropped  my  arm,  staring  at  him  in  min- 
gled anger  and  a  certain  half-understood  sym- 
pathy. 

^'You  think  these  stains — "  I  began. 
^'Are  as  unreal  as  the  dog?  Yes,  master." 
Feeling  as  if  I  were  in  a  dream,  I  tossed  up 
the  laxLtem  again.  The  drops  were  still  there, 
but  no  longer  single  or  scattered.  From  side 
to  side,  the  ceiling  at  this  one  end  of  the  build- 
ing oozed  with  the  thick  red  moisture  to  which 
he  had  given  so  dreadful  a  name. 

Stepping  back  for  fear  the  stains  would  re- 
solve themselves  into  rain  and  drop  upon  my 
forehead,  I  stared  at  Jared,  who  had  now  re- 
treated toward  the  door. 

''What  makes  you  think  it  blood?"  I  de- 
manded. 

149 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

"Because  some  have  smelt  and  tasted  it. 
We  have  never  talked  about  it>  but  this  is  not 
an  uncommon  occurrence.  To-morrow  all 
these  stains  will  be  gone.  Thej  come  when 
the  dog  circles  the  wall.  Whence,  no  one 
knows.  It  is  our  mystery.  All  the  old  ser- 
vants have  heard  of  it  more  than  once.  The  new 
ones  have  never  been  told.  Xor  would  I  have 
told  you  if  you  had  not  seen  the  dog.  It  was 
a  matter  of  honor  with  us." 

I  looked  at  him,  saw  that  he  believed  every 
word  he  said,  threw  anotber  glance  at  the  ceil- 
ing, and  led  the  way  out  When  we  had 
reached  the  house  again,  I  said: 

"You  are  acquainted  with  the  tradition  un- 
derlying theee  appearances,  as  you  call  them. 
What  is  it?" 

He  could  not  tell  me.  He  knew  no  more 
than  he  had  already  stated — gossip  and  old 
wives'  tales.  But  later,  a  certain  manuscript 
came  into  my  possession  through  my  lawyer, 
which  I  will  append  to  this. 

It  was  written  by  my  unhappy  father,  somie 

little  time  before  his  last  illness,   and  given 

into  the  charge  of  the  legal  representative  of 

our  family,  with  the  express  injunction  that 

150 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  OLD  PAVILIOK" 

its  seal  was  to  remain  intact  if  foi  twenty  years 
the  apparition  wkicii  had  haunted  him  did  not 
present  itself  to  the  eyes  of  any  of  his  chil- 
dren. But  if  within  that  time  his  experience 
should  repeat  itself  in  theirs,  this  document 
was  to  be  handed  over  to  the  occupant  of  Home- 
wood.  Xineteen  out  of  the  twenty  years  had 
elapsed,  without  the  dog  being  seen  or  the  ceil- 
ing of  the  pavilion  dropping  blood.  But  not 
the  twentieth;  hence,  the  document  was  mine. 
You  can  easily  conceive  with  what  feelings 
I  opened  it.  It  was  headed  with  this  simple 
line: 

MY     STORY     WHICH     I     CAN     WRITE     BUT     COULD 
NEVER    TELL. 

I  am  cursed  with  an  inability  to  speak 
when  I  am  most  deeply  moved,  either  by  anger 
or  tenderness.  This  misfortune  has  wrecked 
my  life.  On  the  verge  of  old  age,  the  sor- 
rows and  the  mistakes  of  my  early  life  fill 
my  thoughts  so  completely  that  I  see  but  one 
face,  hear  but  one  voice;  yet  when  she  was 
living — when  she  could  see  and  hear,  my 
tongue  was  silent  and  she  never  knew.  Aline  I 
my  Aline! 

161 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

I  married  her  when  I  was  thirty-five  and 
she  eighteen.  All  the  world  knows  this;  but 
what  it  does  not  know  is  that  I  loved  her — 
toy,  plaything  that  she  was — a  body  without 
a  mind — (or,  so  I  considered  her) — while  she 
had  but  followed  the  wishes  of  her  relatives 
in  giving  her  sweet  youth  to  a  cold  and  reti- 
cent man  who  might  love,  indeed,  but  who  had 
no  power  to  tell  that  love,  or  even  to  show  it 
in  the  ways  which  women  like,  and  which  she 
liked,  as  I  found  out  when  it  was  too  late. 

I  could  not  help  but  love  her.  It  was  in- 
grained within  me;  a  part  of  the  curse  of  my 
life  to  love  this  gentle,  thoughtless,  alluring 
thing  to  which  I  had  given  my  name.  She  had 
a  smile — it  did  not  come  often — which  tore 
at  my  heart-strings  as  it  welled  up,  just  stir- 
ring the  dimples  in  her  cheeks,  and  died  away 
again  in  a  strange  and  moving  sweetness. 
Though  I  reckoned  her  at  her  worth;  knew 
that  her  charm  was  all  physical;  that  she 
neither  did  nor  could  understand  a  passion 
like  mine,  much  less  return  it,  it  was  none 
the  less  irresistible,  and  I  have  known  myseK 
to  stand  before  a  certain  book-sheK  in  the  turn 
of  the  stairway  for  many  minutes  together, 
152 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  OLD  PAVILION 

because  I  knew  that  she  would  soon  be  coming 
do^vzl,  and  that,  when  she  did,  some  ribbon 
from  her  gown  would  flutter  bj  me,  and  I 
should  feel  the  soft  contact  and  go  away  happy 
to  my  books.  Yet,  if  she  stopped  to  look  back 
at  me,  I  could  only  return  her  look  with  one 
she  doubtless  called  harsh,  for  she  had  not  eyes 
to  see  below  the  surface. 

I  tell  you  all  this,  lest  you  may  not  under- 
stand.    She  was  not  your  mother  and  you  may 
begrudge  me  the  affection  I  felt  for  her;  if  so, 
thrust  these  leaves  into  the  fire  and  seek  not 
the   explanation   of   what  has   surprised   you; 
for  there  is  no  word  written  here  which  doea 
not  find  its  meaning  in  the  intense  love  I  bore 
for  her,  my  young  girl-wife,  and  the  tragedy 
which  this  love  has  brought  into  my  life.    She 
was  slight  in  body,  slight  in  mind  and  of  slight 
feeling.     I  first  discovered  this  last  on  the  day 
I  put  my  mother's  ring  on  her  finger.      She 
laughed  as  I  fitted  it  close  and  kissed  the  little 
hami.      Kot   from   embarrassment   or   childish 
impulse;  I  could  have  understood  that;  but  in- 
differently,  like   one   who   did  not  know   and 
never  could.     Yet  I  married  her,  and  for  six 
months  lived  in  a  fool's  paradise.     Then  came 
153 


The  millionaire  baby 

that  ball.  It  was  held  near  here,  very  near; 
at  one  of  our  neighbor's,  in  fact  I  remember 
that  we  walked,  and  that,  coming  to  the  drive- 
way, I  lifted  her  and  carried  her  across.  Not 
with  a  smile — do  not  thini:  it.  More  likely 
with  a  frown,  though  my  heart  was  warm  and 
happy;  for  when  I  set  her  down,  she  shook 
herself,  and  I  thought  she  did  it  to  hide  a  shud- 
der, and  then  I  could  not  have  spoken  a  word 
had  my  life  depended  on  it. 

I  little  knew  what  lay  back  of  that  shud- 
der. Even  after  I  had  seen  her  dance  with 
him,  not  only  once,  but  twice,  I  never  dreamed 
that  her  thoughts,  light  though  they  were, 
were  not  all  with  me.  It  took  that  morsel  of 
paper  and  the  plain  words  it  contained  to  sat- 
isfy me  of  this,  and  then —  But  passion  ia 
making  me  incoherent.  What  do  you  know  of 
that  scrap  of  paper,  hidden  from  the  whole 
world  from  the  moment  I  first  read  it  till  thia 
hour  of  full  confession  ?  It  fluttered  from 
some  one's  hand  during  the  dance.  I  did  not 
see  whose.  I  only  saw  it  after  it  had  fallen 
at  my  feet,  and  as  it  lay  there  open  I  natu- 
rally read  the  words.  They  were  written  by 
a  man  to  a  woman,  urging  flight  and  setting 
154 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  OLD  PAVILIOiT 

the  hour  and  place  for  meeting.  I  was  con- 
scious of  shame  in  reading  it,  and  let  these 
last  details  escape  me.  As  I  put  it  in  my 
pocket  I  remember  thinking,  ^'Some  poor  devil 
made  miserable !''  for  there  had  been  hint  ir- 
it  of  the  husband.  But  I  had  no  thought — I 
swear  it  before  God — of  who  that  husband 
was  till  I  beheld  her  flit  back  through  the 
open  doorway,  with  terror  in  her  mien  and 
searching  eves  fixed  on  the  floor.  Then  hell 
opened  before  me,  and  I  saw  my  happiness  go 
down  into  gulfs  I  had  never  before  sounded, 
even  in  imagination. 

But  even  at  that  evil  hour  mj  countenance 
Bc-arcelv  changed — I  was  opposite  a  mirror, 
and  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  myself  as  I  moved. 
But  there  must  have  been  some  change  in  my 
voice — for  when  I  addressed  her,  she  started 
and  turned  her  face  upon  me  with  a  wild  and 
pathetic  look  which  knocked  so  at  my  heart 
that  I  wished  I  had  never  read  those  words, 
and  so  could  return  her  the  paper  with  no 
misgiving  as  to  its  contents.  But  having  read 
it,  I  could  not  do  this;  so,  beyond  a  petty 
greeting,  I  said  nothing  and  let  the  moment 
pass,  and  she  with  it ;  for  couples  were  dancing 
155 


THE  MILLION-AIRE  BABY 

and  she  was  soon  again  in  the  whirl.     I  am 
not  a  dancing  man  myself,  and  I  had  leisure 
to  think  and  madden  myself  with  contempla- 
tion of  my  wrecked  life  and  questions  as  to 
what  I  should  do  to  her  and  to  him,   and  to 
the  world  where  such  things  could  happen,    I 
had  forgotten  the  details  of  time  and  place, 
or  rather  had  put  them  out  of  my  mind,  and  I 
would  not  look  at  the  ^T>rds  again — could  not. 
But  as  the  minutes  went  by,  the  remembrance 
returned,    startling   and   convincing,    that   the 
hour  was  two  and  the  place — our  old  pavilion. 
I   walked   about   after  that  like   a  man   in 
whose  breast  the  sources  of  life  are  frozen.    I 
chatted — I   who   never   chatted — with   women^ 
and  with  men.     I  even   smiled — once.      That 
was  when  my  little  white-faced  wife  asked  me 
if  it  were  not  time  to  go  home.     Even  a  man 
under  torture  might  find  strength  to  smile  if 
the  inquisitor  should  ask  if  he  were  not  ready 
to  be  released. 

And  we  went  home. 

I  did  not  carry  her  this  time  across  the  drive- 
way; but  when  we  parted  in  the  library,  where 
I    always    spent    an    hour   before    retiring,    I 
picked  out  a  lily  from  a  vase  of  flowers  stand- 
156 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  OLD  PAVILION 

ing  on  my  desk  and  held  it  out  to  her.  She 
stared  at  it  for  a  moment,  quite  as  white  as 
the  lily,  then  she  slowly  put  out  her  hand  and 
took  it  I  felt  no  mercy  after  that,  and  bade 
her  good-night  with  the  remark  that  I  should 
have  to  write  far  into  the  morning,  and  that 
she  need  not  worry  over  my  light,  which  I 
should  not  probably  put  out  till  she  was  half 
through  with  her  night's  rest. 

For  answer,  she  dropped  the  lily.  I  found 
it  next  morning  lying  withered  and  brown  in 
the  hall-way. 

That  light  did  bum  far  into  the  morning; 
but  I  was  not  there  to  trim  it  Before  the 
fatal  hour  had  struck,  I  had  left  the  house 
and  made  my  way  to  the  pavilion.  As  I 
crossed  the  sward  I  saw  the  gleam  of  a  lantern 
at  the  masthead  of  a  small  boat  riding  near 
our  own  landing-place,  and  I  understood  where 
he  was  at  this  hour,  and  by  what  route  he 
hoped  to  take  my  darling.  '^A  route  she  will 
never  travel,''  thought  I,  sti'iving  to  keep  out  of 
mv  mind  and  conscience  the  vision  of  another 
route,  another  ti'avel,  which  that  sweet  young 
body  might  take  if  my  mood  held  and  my  pur- 
pose strengthened. 

157 


THE  millio:n^aire  baby 

There  was  no  moon  that  night,  and  the 
oopse  in  which  our  pavilion  stands  was  like 
a  blot  against  the  starless  heavens.  As  I  drew 
near  it,  my  dog,  the  invariable  companion  of 
mj  walks,  lifted  a  short,  sharp  bark  from  the 
stables.  But  I  knew  whose  hand  had  fastened 
him,  and  I  went  on  without  giving  him  a 
thought.  At  the  door  of  the  pavilion  I  stopped. 
All  was  dark  within  as  without,  and  the  silence 
was  something  to  overwhelm  the  heart  She 
was  not  there  then,  nor  was  he.  But  he  would 
be  coming  soon,  and  up  or  do^vn  between  the 
double  hedge-rows. 

I  went  to  meet  him.  It  was  a  small  detail, 
but  possibly  a  necessary  one.  In  her  eyes  he 
was  probably  handsome  and  gifted  with  all 
that  I  openly  lacked.  But  he  was  shallow  and 
small  for  a  man  like  me  to  be  concerned  about. 
I  laughed  inwardly  and  with  very  conceivable 
scorn  as  I  heard  the  faint  fall  of  his  footsteps 
in  the  darkness.  It  was  nearly  two  and  he 
meant  to  be  prompt. 

Our  coming  together   in   that   narrow  path 

was  very  much  what  I  expected  it  to  be.     I 

had  put  out  my  arms  and  touched  the  hedge 

on  either  side,  so  that  he  could  not  escape  me. 

158 


THE  SECEET  OF  THE  OLD  PAVILI0:N" 

When  I  heard  him  drawing  close,  I  found  the 
voice  I  had  not  had  for  her,  and  observed  very 
quietly  and  with  the  cold  politeness  of  a  mes- 
senger : 

^'Mj  wife  finds  herself  indisposed  since  the 
ball,  and  begs  to  be  excused  from  joining  you 
in  the  pleasant  sail  you  proposed  to  her." 

That,  and  no  more;  except  that  when  he 
started  and  almost  fell  into  my  arms,  I  found 
strength  to  add: 

"The  wind  blows  fresh  to-night ;  you  will 
have  no  difficulty  in  leaving  this  shore.  The 
difficulty  will  be  to  return." 

I  had  no  heart  to  kill  him;  he  was  young 
and  he  was  frightened.  I  heard  the  sob  in 
his  throat  as  I  dropped  my  arm  and  he  went 
flying  down  to  the  river. 

This  was  child's  play;  the  rest — 

My  portion  is  to  tell  it;  forty  years  ago  it 
all  befell,  and  till  now  no  word  of  it  has  ever 
left  my  lips. 

There  was  no  sound  of  her  advancing  tread 
across  the  lawn  as  I  stepped  back  into  my  own 
grounds  to  enter  the  pavilion.  But  as  I  left 
the  path  and  put  foot  inside  the  wall,  I  heard 
a  far,  faint  sound  like  the  harsh  closing  of  a 
159 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

door  in  timid  hands,  followed  bj  another  bark 
from  the  dog,  louder  and  sharper  than  the 
first — for  he  did  not  recognize  my  Aline  as 
mistress,  though  I  had  striven  for  six  months 
to  teach  him  the  place  she  held  in  mj  heart. 

By  this  I  knew  she  was  coming,  and  that 
what  preparations  I  had  to  make  must  bo 
made  soon.  They  were  not  many.  Entering 
the  well-known  place,  I  lit  the  lantern  I  had 
brought  with  me  and  set  it  down  near  the  door. 
It  cast  a  feeble  light  about  tlie  entrance,  but 
left  gi-eat  shadows  in  the  rear.  This  I  had 
calculated  on,  and  into  these  shadows  I  now 
stepped. 

The  pavilion,  as  you  remember  it,  is  not 
what  it  was  then.  I  had  used  it  little,  fancying 
more  my  own  library  up  at  the  house,  but  it 
was  not  utterly  without  furnishings,  and  to 
young  eyes  might  even  look  attractive,  ^vith 
love,  or  fancied  love,  to  mellow  its  harsh  lines 
and  lend  romance  to  its  solitude.  At  this  hour 
and  under  these  circumstances  it  was  a  dis- 
mal hole  to  me;  and  as  I  stood  there  waiting, 
I  thought  how  the  place  fitted  the  deed — if 
deed  it  was  to  be. 

I  had  always  thought  her  timid,  afraid  of 
160 


THE  SECEET  OE  THE  OLD  PAVILIOiT 

the  night  and  all  threatening  things.  But  as 
I  listened  to  the  sound  of  her  soft  footfall  at 
the  door,  I  realized  that  even  her  breast  could 
grow  strong  under  the  influence  of  a  real  or 
fancied  passion.  It  was  a  shock — but  I  did 
not  cry  out — only  set  my  teeth  together  and 
turned  a  little  so  that  what  light  there  was 
would  fall  on  my  form  rather  than  on  my  face. 

She  entered;  I  felt  rather  than  heard  the 
tremulous  push  she  gave  to  the  door,  and  the 
quick  drawing  in  of  her  breath  as  she  put 
her  foot  across  the  threshold.  These  sapped 
my  courage.  This  fear,  this  almost  hesitation, 
drew  me  from  thoughts  of  myself  to  thoughts 
of  her,  and  it  was  in  a  daze  of  mingled  pur- 
poses and  regrets  that  I  felt  her  at  last  at  my 
side. 

"Walter!"  fell  softly,  doubtfuUy  from  her 
lips. 

It  was  the  name  of  him  the  dip  of  whose 
oars  as  he  made  for  his  boat  I  could  now  faint- 
ly hear  in  the  river  below  us. 

Turning,  I  looked  her  in  the  face. 

"You  are  late,"  said  I.  God  gave  me  words 
in  my  extremity.  "Walter  has  gone."  Then, 
as  the  madness  of  terror  replaced  love  in  her 
161 


THE  MILLIOXAIEE  BABY 

eyes,  I  lifted  her  forcibly  and  carried  her  to 
the  window,  where  I  drew  aside  the  vines. 
"That  is  his  boat's  lantern  you  see  drawing 
away  from  the  dock.  I  bade  him  God-speed. 
He  will  not  come  again." 

Without  a  word  she  looked,  then  fell  back 
on  my  arm.  It  was  not  life  which  forsook  her 
face,  and  left  her  whole  sweet  body  inert — 
that  I  could  have  borne,  for  did  she  not  merit 
death  who  had  killed  my  love,  killed  me  ? — 
but  happiness,  the  glow  of  youthful  blood,  the 
dreams  of  a  youthful  brain.  And  seeing  this, 
seeing  that  the  heart  I  thought  a  child^s  heart 
had  gone  down  in  this  shipwreck,  I  felt  my 
anger  swell  and  master  me  body  and  soul,  and 
before  I  knew  it,  I  was  towering  over  her  and 
Bhe  was  cowering  at  my  feet,  cinished  and  with 
hands  held  up  in  defense,  hands  that  had  been 
like  rose-leaves  in  my  grasp,  futile  hands,  but 
raised  now  in  entreaty  for  her  life  to  me,  to 
me  who  had  loved  her. 

Why  did  they  not  move  me  ?  Why  did  my 
muscles  tighten  instead  of  relax?  I  do  not 
know;  I  had  never  thought  myself  a  cruel 
man,  but  at  that  instant  I  felt  that  this  toy 
of  my  strong  manhood  had  done  harm  far  be- 
162 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  OLD  PAVILIOK 

vond  its  value,  and  that  it  would  comfort  me 
to  break  it  and  toss  it  far  aside;  onlj  I  could 
not  bear  the  cry  which  now  left  her  lips: 

''I  am  so  young!  not  yet,  not  yet,  Philo! 
I  am  so  young!    Let  me  live  a  little  while." 

Was  it  a  woman's  plea,  conscious  of  the  ten- 
derness she  appealed  to,  or  only  a  child's  in- 
stinctive grasping  after  life,  just  life?  If  it 
were  the  first,  it  would  be  easy  to  finish;  but 
a  child's  terror,  a  child's  longing — that  pulled 
hard  at  my  manhood,  and  under  the  possibil- 
ity, my  own  ami  fell. 

Instantly  her  head  drooped,  ^o  defense 
did  she  utter;  no  further  plea  did  she  make; 
she  simply  waited. 

"You  have  deserved  death."  This  I  man- 
aged to  utter.  "But  if  you  will  swear  to  obey 
me,  you  shall  not  pay  your  forfeit  till  you 
have  had  a  further  taste  of  life.  Xot  in  my 
house;  there  is  not  sufficient  freedom  within 
its  walls  for  you ;  but  in  the  broad  world,  where 
people  dance  and  sing  and  grow  old  at  their 
leisure,  without  duty  and  without  care.  For 
three  months  you  shall  have  this,  and  have  it 
to  your  heart's  content.  Then  you  shall  come 
back  to  me  my  true  wife,  if  your  heart  so 
163 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

prompts;  if  not^  to  teU  me  of  your  failure 
and  quit  me  for  ever.  But — "  Here  I  fear 
my  voice  grew  terrible,  for  her  hands  instinct- 
ively rose  again.  ^'Those  three  months  must 
be  lived  unstained.  As  you  ai^  in  God's  sight 
this  hour,  I  demand  of  you  to  swear  that,  if 
you  forget  this  or  disregard  it,  or  for  any 
cause  subject  my  name  to  dishonor,  that  you 
will  return  unbidden  at  the  first  moment  your 
reason  returns  to  you,  to  take  what  punish- 
ment I  will.  On  this  condition  I  send  you 
away  to-night.     Aline,  will  you  promise?" 

She  did  not  answer;  but  her  face  rose.  I 
did  not  understand  its  look.  There  was  pa- 
thos in  it,  and  something  else.  That  some- 
thing else  troubled  me. 

"Are  you  dissatisfied?"  I  asked.  "Is  the 
time  too  short?  Do  you  want  more  months 
for  dancing?" 

She  shook  her  head  and  the  little  hands 
rose  again: 

"Do  not  send  me  awny,"  she  faintly  en- 
treated; "I  don't  know  why — but  I — ^had 
rather  stay." 

"With  me?  Impossible.  Are  you  ready  to 
promise,  Aline?" 

164 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  OLD  PAVILION 

Then  she  rose  and  looked  me  in  the  eje 
with  courage,  almost  with  resolution. 

"As  I  live!''  said  she. 

And  I  knew  she  would  keep  her  word. 

The  next  thing  I  remember  of  that  night 
was  the  sight  of  her  little  white,  shivering  fig- 
ure looking  out  at  me  from  the  carriage  that 
was  to  carry  her  away.  The  night  was  cold, 
and  I  had  tucked  her  in  with  as  much  care 
as  I  might  have  done  the  evening  before,  when 
I  still  worshiped  her,  still  thought  her  mine, 
or  at  least  as  much  mine  as  she  was  any  one's. 
^Mien  I  had  done  this  and  pressed  a  generous 
gift  into  her  hand,  I  stood  a  minute  at  the 
carriage  door,  in  pity  of  her  aspect.  She  looked 
so  pinched  and  pale,  so  dazed  and  hopeless.  Had 
she  been  alone — but  the  companion  with  whom  I 
had  provided  her  was  at  her  side  and  my  tongue 
was  tied.  I  turned,  and  the  driver  started  up 
the  horses. 

"Philo  I"  I  heard  blown  by  me  on  the  wind. 

Was  it  she  who  called  ?  Xo,  for  there  was 
anguish  in  the  cry,  the  anguish  of  a  woman, 
and  she  was  only  a  frightened,  disheartened 
child  whom  I  had  sent  away  to — dance. 

One  month,  two  months  went  by,  and  I  be* 
165 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

gan  to  take  up  my  life.  Another,  and  she 
would  be  home  for  good  or  ill.  I  thought  that 
I  could  live  through  that  other.  I  had  heard 
of  her;  not  from  her — that  I  did  not  require; 
and  the  stories  were  all  of  the  same  charac- 
ter. She  was  enjoying  life  in  the  great  city 
to  w^hich  I  had  sent  her;  radiant  at  night,  if 
a  little  spiritless  by  day.  She  was  at  balls,  at 
concerts  and  at  theaters.  She  wore  jewels  and 
shone  with  the  best;  I  might  be  proud  of  her 
conquests  and  the  sweetness  and  dignity  with 
which  she  bore  herself.  Thus  her  friends 
wrote. 

But  she  wrote  nothing;  I  had  not  required 
it.  Once,  some  one — a  visitor  at  the  house — 
spoke  of  having  seen  her.  ^'She  was  surround- 
ed with  admirers,"  he  had  said.  ^'How  early 
our  American  women  ripen !"  was  his  com- 
ment. ^'She  held  her  head  like  one  who  has 
held  sway  for  years ;  but  I  thought  her  a  trifle 
worn;  as  if  pleasure  absorbed  too  much  of  her 
sleep.    You  must  look  out  for  her,  Judge.'' 

And  I  smiled  grimly  enough,  I  own,  to 
think  just  how  I  was  looking  out  for  her. 

Then  came  the  thunderbolt. 

"I  am  told  that  no  one  ever  sees  her  in  the 
166 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  OLD  PAVILION 

day-time;  that  she  is  always  busy,  days.  But 
she  does  not  look  as  if  she  took  that  time  for 
rest.  What  can  your  little  wife  be  doing  ?  You 
ought  to  hurry  up  that  important  opinion  of 
yours  and  go  see." 

He  was  right;  what  was  she  doing?  And 
why  shouldn't  I  go  see  ?  There  was  no  obsta- 
cle but  my  own  will,  but  that  is  the  greatest 
obstacle  a  man  can  have.  I  remained  at 
Homewood,  but  the  four  weeks  of  our  further 
probation  looked  like  a  year. 

Meanwhile,  I  had  my  way  with  the  pavil- 
ion. I  have  shown  you  my  heart,  sometimes 
at  its  best,  oftenest  at  its  worst,  I  will  show 
it  to  you  again  in  this.  I  had  a  wall  built 
round  it,  close  against  the  thicket  in  which  it 
lay  embedded.  This  wall  was  painted  white, 
and  near  it  I  had  lamps  placed  which  were 
lit  at  nightfalL  Should  a  figure  pass  that  wall 
I  could  see  it  from  my  window.  Xo  one  could 
enter  that  doorway  now,  without  running  the 
risk  of  my  seeing  him  from  where  I  sat  at 
my  desk. 

Did  I  feel  easier?  I  do  not  know  that  I 
did.  I  merely  followed  an  impulse  I  dared  not 
name  to  myself. 

167 


THE  millio:n"aiee  baby 

Two  weeks  of  this  final  month,  wont  bj. 
Then  (it  was  in  the  evening)  some  one  came 
running  up  from  tlie  groimds,  with  the  mes- 
sage that  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  had  ridden  into 
the  gate,  but  that  she  was  not  ready  to  enter 
the  house.  Would  I  meet  her  at  the  pavil- 
ion? 

I  was  in  the  library,  at  my  desk,  with  my 
eyes  on  the  wall,  when  this  was  told  me.  I 
had  just  seen  the  fierce  figure  of  that  unman- 
ageable dog  of  mine  run  by  that  white  sur- 
face, and  my  lips  were  open  to  order  him  tied 
up,  when  he,  and  everything  else  in  this  whole 
world,  was  forgotten  in  this  crushing  news  of 
her  return.  For  the  three  months  were  not 
up  and  her  presence  here  could  mean  but  one 
thing — she  had  found  temptation  too  much  for 
her,  and  she  had  come  back  to  tell  me  so  in 
obedience  to  her  promise. 

"I  will  go  meet  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,"  I  said. 

The  man  stared. 

"I  will  go  meet  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  now,''  I 
repeated,  and  tried  to  rise. 

But  my  limbs   refused;   death  had  entered 
my  heart,   and   it  was  some  few  minutes  be- 
fore I  found  myself  upon  the  lawn  outside. 
168 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  OLD  PAVILIOl^T 

When  I  got  there  I  was  trembling  and  so 
uncertain  of  movement  that  I  tottered  at  the 
gate.  But  seeing  signs  of  her  presence  within, 
I  straightened  myseK  and  went  in.  ^ 

She  was  standing  at  the  extreme  end  of  the 
room  when  I  entered,  in  the  full  light  of  the 
solitary  moonbeam  which  shot  in  at  the  west- 
em  casement.  She  had  thrown  aside  her  hat 
and  coat,  and  never  in  all  mj  life  had  I  seen 
anything  so  ethereal  as  the  worn  face  and 
wasted  form  she  thus  disclosed.  Had  it  not 
been  for  the  haunting  and  pathetic  smile  which 
by  some  freak  of  fate  gave  poignancy  to  her 
otherwise  infantile  beauty,  I  should  not  have 
known  the  woman  who  stood  there  with  my 
name  formed  on  her  lips. 

"Destroyed  I"  was  my  thought;  and  the  rage 
which  I  felt  that  moment  against  fate  flushed 
my  whole  being,  and  my  arms  went  up,  not 
in  threat  against  her,  but  to  an  avenging 
Heaven,  when  I  heard  an  impetuous  rush,  an 
angry  growl,  and  the  delicate,  trembling  fig- 
ure went  do^^Tl  under  the  leap  of  the  monstrous 
animal  which  I  had  taught  to  love  me,  but 
could  never  teach  to  love  her. 

In  horror  and  unspeakable  anguish  of  sou) 
169 


TBE  ::\MLLIOXAIRE  BABY 

I  called  off  the  dog;  and,  stooping  with  bitter 
cries,  I  took  lier  in  mj  arms. 

"Hurt  r  I  gasped.  "Hurt,  AHne  ?"  I  looked 
at  her  anxiously. 

"!N'o,"  she  whispered,  ^^happv."  And  bo- 
fore  I  realized  my  own  feelings  or  the  passion 
with  which  I  drew  her  to  my  breast,  she  had 
nestled  her  head  against  my  heart,  smiled  and 
died. 

The  shock  of  the  dog's  onslaught  had  killed 
her. 

I  would  not  believe  it  at  first,  but  when  I 
was  quite  sure,  I  took  out  the  pistol  I  carried 
in  my  breast  and  shot  the  cowering  brute  mid- 
way between  the  eyes. 

When  this  was  done,  I  turned  back  to  her. 
There  was  no  light  but  the  moon,  and  I  need- 
ed no  other.  The  clear  beams  falling  on  her 
face  made  her  look  pure  and  stainless  and 
sweet  I  could  almost  have  loved  her  again 
as  I  marked  the  tender  smile  which  lingered 
from  that  passing  moment  on  her  lips.  "Hap- 
py," she  had  said.  What  did  she  mean  by 
that  "Happy"  ?  As  I  asked  myself  I  heard  a 
cry.  The  companion  who  had  been  with  her 
had  rushed  in  at  the  doorway,  and  was  gazing 
170 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  OLD  PAVILION 

in  sorrow  and  amazement  at  the  white  form 
lying  outstretched  and  senseless  against  that 
farther  wall. 

"Oh/'  she  cried,  in  a  tone  that  assured  me 
she  had  not  seen  the  dog  lying  in  his  blood  at 
my  back;  "dead  already?  dead  at  the  first 
glance  ?  at  the  first  word  ?  Ah,  she  knew  bet- 
ter than  I,  poor  lamb.  I  thought  she  would 
get  well  if  she  once  got  home.  She  wearied  so 
for  you,  sir,  and  for  Homewood!" 

I  thought  myself  quite  mad;  past  under- 
standing aright  the  words  addressed  to  me. 

"She  wearied — "  I  began. 

"With  all  her  soul  for  you  and  Homewood,^* 
the  young  woman  repeated.  "That  is,  since 
her  illness  developed." 

"Her  illness?" 

"Yes,  she  has  been  ill  ever  since  she  went 
away.  The  cold  of  that  first  journey  was  too 
much  for  her.  But  she  kept  up  for  several 
weeks — doing  what  no  other  woman  ever  did 
before  with  so  little  strength  and  so  little  hope. 
Danced  at  night  and — " 

"And — and — what  by  day,  what?"  I  could 
hardly  get  the  words  out  of  my  mouth. 

"Studied.      Learned   what  she   thought  you 

171 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

would  like — Erencli — music — politics.  It  was 
to  have  been  a  surprise.  Poor  soul!  it  took 
her  very  life.  She  did  not  sleep —  Oh,  sir, 
what  is  it?" 

I  was  standing  over  her,  probably  a  terrify- 
ing figure.  Lights  were  playing  before  my 
eyes,  strange  sounds  were  in  my  ears,  every- 
thing about  me  seemed  resolving  itself  into 
chaos. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  finally  gasped. 
"She  studied — to  please  mef  Why  did  ahe 
come  back,  then,  so  soon — "  I  paused,  choked. 
I  had  been  about  to  give  away  my  secret  "I 
mean,  why  did  she  come  thus  suddenly,  with- 
out warning  me  of  what  I  might  expect?  I 
would  have  gone — " 

"I  told  her  so ;  but  she  was  very  determined 
to  come  to  you  herself — to  this  very  pavilion- 
She  had  set  the  time  later,  but  this  morning 
the  doctor  told  her  that  her  s;>Tiiptoms  were 
alarming,  and  without  consulting  him  or  heed- 
ing the  advice  of  any  of  us,  she  started  for 
home.  She  was  buoyant  on  the  way,  and  more 
than  once  I  heard  her  softly  repeating  your 
name.  Her  heart  was  very  loving —  Oh,  sir, 
you  are  ill!" 

173 


f  HE  SECREt  OF  THE  OLD  PAVILIO]^ 

'*!N"o,  no/'  I  cried,  crushing  mj  hand  against 
my  mouth  to  keep  down  the  cry  of  anguish 
and  despair  which  tore  its  way  up  from  my 
heart.  *  ^Before  other  hands  touch  her,  other 
eyes  see  her,  tell  me  when  she  began — I  will 
not  say  to  love  me,  but  to  weary  for  me  and — 
Homewood." 

"Perhaps  she  has  told  you  herself.  Here 
is  the  letter,  sir,  she  bade  me  give  you  if  she 
did  not  reach  here  alive.  She  wrote  it  this 
morning,  after  the  doctor  told  her  what  I  have 
said." 

"Give— give— " 

She  put  it  in  my  hand.  I  glanced  at  it  in 
the  moonlight,  read  the  first  few  words,  and 
felt  the  world  reel  round  me.  Thrusting  the 
letter  in  my  breast,  I  bade  the  woman,  who 
watched  me  with  fascinated  eyes,  to  go  now 
and  rouse  the  house.  When  she  was  gone  I 
stepped  back  into  the  shadows,  and  catching 
hold  of  the  murderous  beast,  I  dragged  him 
out  and  about  the  wall  to  a  thick  clump  of 
bushes.  Here  I  left  him  and  went  back  to 
my  darling.  When  they  came  in,  they  found 
her  in  my  arms.  Her  head  had  fallen  back 
and  I  was  staring,  staring,  at  her  white  throat. 
173 


THE  MILLIO>TAIRE  BaBY 

That  night,  when  all  was  done  for  her  which 
could  be  done,  I  shut  myself  into  my  library 
and  again  opened  that  precious  letter.  I  give 
it,  to  show  how  men  may  be  mistaken  when 
they  seek  to  weigh  women's  souls: 

My  Husband: 

I  love  you.  As  I  shall  be  dead  when  you 
read  this,  I  may  say  so  without  fear  of  re- 
buff. I  did  not  love  you  then;  I  did  not  love 
anybody;  I  was  thoughtless  and  fond  of  plea- 
sure, and  craved  affectionate  words.  He  saw 
this  and  worked  on  my  folly;  but  when  his 
project  failed  and  I  saw  his  boat  creep  away, 
I  found  that  what  feeling  I  had  was  for  the 
man  who  had  thwarted  him,  and  I  felt  myself 
saved. 

If  I  had  not  taken  cold  that  night  I  might 
have  lived  to  prove  this.  I  know  that  you  do 
not  love  me  very  much,  but  perhaps  you  would 
have  done  so  had  you  seen  me  grow  a  little 
wiser  and  more  like  what  your  ^vife  should  be. 
I  was  trying  when— O  Philo,  I  can  not  write — 
I  can  not  think.  I  am  coming  to  you — I  love 
— forgive — and  take  me  back  again,  alive  or 
dead.  I  love  you — I  love — 
174 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  OLD  PAVILION 

As  I  finished,  the  light,  which  haC  been 
burning  low,  suddenly  went  out  The  window 
which  opened  before  me  was  still  unshuttere.^ 
Before  me,  across  the  wide  spaces  of  the  lawn, 
Bhone  the  pavilion  wall,  white  in  the  moon- 
light As  I  stared  in  horror  at  it,  a  trem- 
bling seized  my  whole  body,  and  the  hair  on 
my  head  rose.     The  dark  figure  of  a  running 

dog  had  passed  across  it— the  dog  which  lay 

dead  under  the  hushes. 

^^God's  punishment,"  I  murmured,  and  laid 

my    head    down    on    that   pathetic   letter    and 

sobbed. 

The  morning  found  me  there.  It  was  not 
till  later  that  the  man  sent  to  bury  the  dog 
came  to  me  with  the  cry,  ^^Something  is  wrong 
with  the  pavilion!  When  I  went  in  to  close  the 
window  I  found  the  ceiling  at  that  end  of  the 
room  strangely  dabbled.  It  looks  like  blood. 
And  the  spots  grew  as  I  looked." 

Aghast,  bruised  in  spirit  and  broken  of 
heart,  I  went  down,  after  that  sweet  body  was 
laid  in  its  grave,  to  look.  The  stains  he  had 
spoken  of  were  gone.  But  I  lived  to  see  ihem 
reappear, — as  you  have. 

God  have  mercy  on  our  souls! 
176 


xn 

behi:n^d  the  wall 

"A  most  pathetic  and  awesome  history  1"  I  ex- 
claimed, after  the  pause  which  instinctively 
followed  the  completion  of  this  tale,  read  as  few 
of  its  kind  have  ever  heen  read,  by  this  woman 
of  infinite  resources  in  feeling  and  expression. 

''Is  it  not?  Do  you  wonder  that  a  visit  in 
the  dead  of  night  to  a  spot  associated  with  such 
superstitious  horrors  should  frighten  me  V^  she 
added  as  she  bundled  up  the  scattered  sheets 
with  a  reckless  hand. 

"I  do  not  I  am  not  sure  but  that  I  am  a 
little  bit  frightened  myself,"  I  smiled,  follow- 
ing with  my  eye  a  single  sheet  which  had  es- 
caped to  the  floor.  "Allow  me,"  I  cried,  stoop- 
ing to  lift  it.  As  I  did  so  I  observed  that  it 
was  the  first  sheet,  the  torn  one — and  that  a 
line  or  so  of  writing  was  visible  at  the  top  which 
I  was  sure  had  not  been  amongst  those  she  had 
read. 

"What  words  are  those?"  I  asked. 

176 


BEHIXD  THE  WALL 

^*T  don't  know,  tliey  are  half  gone  as  you  c-an 
see.  Thev  have  noiJiing  to  do  with,  tlie^  story. 
I  read  yon  the  whole  of  that'"' 

Mistress  as  she  was  of  her  moods  and  expres- 
sion I  detected  traces  of  some  slight  confusion. 

'The  putting  up  of  the  partition  is  not  ex- 
plained/'' I  remarked. 

^'Oh,  that  was  put  up  in  horror  of  the  stains 
which  from  time  to  time  broke  out  on  the  ceiling 
at  that  end  of  the  room." 

I  wished  to  ask  her  if  this  was  her  conclu- 
sion or  if  that  line  or  two  I  have  mentioned 
was  more  intelligible  than  she  had  acknow- 
ledged it  to  be.  But  T  refrained  from  a  sense  of 
propriety. 

If  she  appreciated  my  forbearance  she  did 
not  show  it.  Hising,  she  thrust  the  papers  into 
a  cupboard,  casting  a  scarcely  perceptible 
glance  at  the  clock  as  she  did  so. 

I  took  the  iiint  and  rose.  Instantly  she  was 
all  smiles. 

"You  have  forgotten  something,  Mr.  Trev- 
itt..  Surely  you  do  not  intend  to  carry  away 
with  you  my  key  to  the  bungalow." 

"I  was  thinking  of  it/*-   I  returned  lightly. 
''T  am  not  quite  ^Iv.^.iigh  ^-ith  that  key."    Then 
177 


THE  MILLIO^^AIRE  BABY 

before  she  could  recover  from  her  surprise,  I 
added  with  such  suavity  as  I  had  been  able  to 
acquire  in  my  intercourse  with  my  more  cul- 
tivated clients: 

''I  have  to  thank  you,  Mrs.  Carew,  for  an 
hour  of  thrilling  interest.  Absorbed  though  I 
am  in  the  present  mystery,  my  mind  has  room 
for  the  old  one.  Possibly  because  there  is 
sometimes  a  marked  connection  between  old 
family  events  and  new.  There  may  be  some 
such  connection  in  this  case.  I  should  like  the 
opportunity  of  assuring  myself  there  is  not" 

She  said  nothing;  I  thought  I  understood 
why.  More  suavely  yet,  I  continued,  with  a 
slight,  a  very  slight  movement  toward  the  door : 
"Earely  have  I  had  the  pleasure  of  listening 
to  such  a  tale  read  by  such  an  interpreter.  It 
will  always  remain  in  my  memory,  Mrs.  Ca- 
rew. But  the  episode  is  over  and  I  return  to 
my  present  duty  and  the  bungalow." 

^The  bungalow!  You  are  going  back 
to  the  bungalow?" 

"Immediately." 

"What  for?  Didn't  you  see  all  there  was 
to  see?" 

"l^ot  quite." 

178 


BEHIND  THE  WALL 

"I  don't  know  what  tihere  can  be  left" 

"Notking  of  consequence,  most  likely,  but 
you  can  not  wish  me  to  have  any  doubts  on  the 
subject" 

^'JSTo,  no,  of  course  not" 

The  carelessness  of  her  tone  did  not  com- 
municate itself  to  her  manner.  Seeing  that 
my  unexpected  proposition  had  roused  her 
alarm,  I  grew  wary  and  remarked: 

"I  was  always  overscrupulous." 

With  a  lift  of  her  shoulders — a  dainty  ges- 
ture which  I  congratulated  myself  I  could  see 
unmoved — she  held  out  her  hand  in  a  mute 
appeal  for  the  key,  but  seeing  that  I  was  not 
to  be  shaken  in  my  purpose,  reached  for  the 
wrap  she  had  tossed  on  a  chair  and  tied  it  again 
over  her  head. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  I  asked. 

"Accompany  you,"  she  declared. 

"Again?  I  thought  the  place  frightened 
yon." 

"It  does,"  she  replied.  "I  had  rather  visit 
any  other  spot  in  the  whole  world ;  but  if  it  is 
your  intention  to  go  back  there,  it  is  mine  to  go 
with  you." 

"You  are  very  good,"  I  replied. 

179 


THE  MILLIONAIEE  BABY 

But  I  was  seriously  disconcerted  notwith- 
standing. I  had  reckoned  upon  a  quiet  hour  in 
the  bungalow  bj  myself;  moreover,  I  did  not 
understand  her  motive  for  never  trusting  me 
there  alone.  Yet  as  this  very  distrust  was  sug- 
gestive, I  put  a  good  face  on  the  matter  and 
welcomed  her  company  with  becoming  alacrity. 
After  all,  I  might  gain  more  than  I  could  possi- 
bly lose  by  having  her  under  my  eye  for  a  little 
longer.  Strong  as  was  her  self-control  there 
were  moments  when  the  real  woman  showed  her- 
self, and  these  moments  were  productive. 

As  we  were  passing  out  she  paused  to  extin- 
guish a  lamp  which  was  slightly  smoking, — I 
also  thought  she  paused  an  instant  to  listen.  At 
all  eventa  her  ears  were  turned  toward  the 
stairs  do^vn  which  there  came  the  murmur  of 
two  voices,  one  of  tliem  the  little  boy's. 

^'It  is  time  Harry  was  asleep,"  she  cried. 
"I  promised  to  sing  to  him.  You  won't  be 
long,  will  you?" 

^Y^ou  need  not  be  vei-y  long,"  was  my  sig- 
nificant retort.     ^^I  can  not  speak  for  myself." 

TVas  I  playing  with  her  curiosity  or  anxie- 
ties or  whatever  it  was  that  affected  her?  I 
hardly  knew;  I  spoke  as  impulse  directed  and 
180 


BEHIND  THE  WALL 

waited  in  oold  blood — or  was  it  hot  blood? — 
to  see  how  she  took  it. 

Carelessly  enough,  for  she  was  a  famous  ac- 
tress except  when  taken  by  surprise.  Check- 
ing an  evident  desire  of  calling  out  some  direc- 
tion up  sUirs,  she  followed  me  to  the  door,  re- 
marking cheerfully,  '"You  can  not  be  very  long 
either;  the  place  is  not  large  enough." 

My  excuse — or  rather  the  one  I  made  to  my- 
self io^  thus  returning  to  a  place  I  had  seem- 
ingly exhausted,  was  this.  In  the  quick  turn 
I  had  made  in  leaving  on  the  former  occasion, 
my  foot  had  struck  the  edge  of  the  large  rug 
nailed  over  the  center  of  the  floor,  and  unac- 
countably loosened  it.  To  rectify  this  mishap, 
and  also  to  see  how  so  slight  a  shock  could  have 
Lifted  the  large  brass  nails  by  which  it  had  been 
held  down  to  the  floor,  seemed  reason  enough 
for  my  actioru  But  how  to  draw  her  attention 
to  so  insignificant  a  fact  without  incurring  her 
ridicule  I  could  not  decide  in  our  brief  passage 
back  to  the  bungalow,  and  consequently  was 
greatly  relieved  when,  upon  opening  the  door 
and  turning  my  lantern  on  the  scene,  I  dis- 
covei^ed  that  in  our  absence  tlie  rug  had  torn 
itself  still  farther  free  from  the  floor  and  now 
181 


THE  MILLIOKAIKE  BABY 

lay  witli  one  of  its  corners  well  curled  over — 
the  comer  farthest  from  the  door  and  nearest 
the  divan  where  little  Gwendolen  had  been 
lying  when  she  was  lifted  and  carried  away — 
where  ? 

Mrs.  Carew  saw  it  too  and  cast  me  a  start- 
led look  which  I  met  with  a  smile  possibly  as 
ambiguous  as  the  feeling  which  prompted  it. 

"Who  has  been  here?"  she  asked. 

"Ourselves." 

"Did  we  do  that?" 

"I  did;  or  rather  my  foot  struck  the  edge 
of  the  rug  as  I  turned  to  go  out  with  you. 
Shall  I  replace  it  and  press  back  the  nails  ?" 

"If  you  will  be  so  good." 

Do  what  she  would  there  was  eagerness  in 
her  tone.  Remarking  this,  I  decided  to  give 
another  and  closer  look  at  the  floor  and  the 
nails.  I  found  the  latter  had  not  been  properly 
inserted;  or  rather  that  there  were  t\\^o  inden- 
tations for  every  nail,  a  deep  one  and  one  quite 
shallow.  This  caused  me  to  make  some  exam- 
ination of  the  others,  those  which  had  not 
been  drawn  from  the  floor,  and  I  found  that 
one  or  two  of  them  were  equally  insecure,  but 
not  all;  only  those  about  this  one  comer. 
i83 


BEHIXD  THE  WALL 

Mrs.  Carew,  who  had  paused,  confused  and 
faltering  in  the  doorway,  in  her  dismay  at 
seeing  me  engaged  in  this  inspection  instead 
of  in  replacing  the  rug  as  I  had  proposed,  now 
advanced  a  step,  so  that  our  glances  met  as  I 
looked  up  with  the  remark: 

^'This  rug  seems  to  have  been  lately  raised 
at  this  comer.  Do  you  know  if  the  police  had 
it  up?" 

''I  don't  I  believe  so — oh,  Mr.  Trevitt,'' 
she  cried,  as  I  rose  to  my  feet  with  the  comer 
of  the  rug  in  my  hand,  "what  are  you  going 
to  do?" 

She  had  run  forward  impetuously  and  was 
now  standing  close  beside  me — inconveniently 
close. 

"I  am  going  to  raise  this  rug,"  I  informed 
her.  "That  is,  just  at  this  comer.  Pardon 
me,  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  move." 

"Certainly,  of  course,"  she  stammered.  "Oh, 
what  is  going  to  happen  now?"  Then  as  she 
watched  me:  "There  is — ^there  is  something 
under  it.  A  door  in  the  floor — a — a — Mrs. 
Ocumpaugh  never  told  me  of  this." 

"Do  you  suppose  she  knew  it  ?"  I  inquired, 
looking  up  into  her  face,  which  was  very  near 
183 


THE  MILLIOiN^AIRE  BABY 

but  not  near  enough  to  be  in  the  full  light  of  the 
lantera,  which  was  pointed  another  way. 

^'This  rug  appears  to  have  been  almost  sol- 
dered to  the  floor,  everpvhere  but  here.  There ! 
it  is  thrown  back.  Xow,  if  you  ^vill  be  so  veiy 
good  as  to  hold  the  lantern,  I  ^vill  try  and  lift 
up  the  door." 

''I  can  not  See,  how  my  hands  shake  I 
What  are  we  about  to  discover  ?  jSTothing,  I 
pray,  nothing.  Suspense  would  be  better  than 
that" 

^'I  think  you  will  be  able  to  hold  it,"  T  urged, 
pressing  the  lantern  upon  her. 

"Yes;  I  have  never  been  devoid  of  courage. 
But — but — don't  ask  me  to  descend  with  you," 
she  prayed,  as  she  lifted  the  lantern  and  turned 
it  dexterously  enough  on  that  portion  of  the 
door  where  a  ring  lay  outlined  in  the  depths  of 
its  outermost  plank. 

"I  will  not ;  but  you  ^vill  come  just  the  same; 
you  can  not  help  it"  I  hazarded,  as  with  the 
point  of  my  knife-blade  I  lifted  the  small  round 
of  wood  which  filled  into  the  ring  and  thus 
made  the  floor  level. 

"JSTow,  if  this  door  is  not  locked,  we  will  have 
it  up,"  I  cried,  pulling  at  the  ring  with  a  wiU. 
184 


BEHIXD  THE  WALL 

The  door  was  not  locked  and  it  came  up  read- 
ily enough,  discovering  some  half-dozen  steps, 
down  which  I  immediately  proceeded  to  climb. 

''Oh,  I  can  not  stay  here  alone,"  she  pro- 
tested, and  prepared  to  follow  mo  in  haste 
just  as  I  expected  her  to  do  the  moment  she 
saw  the  light  withdrawn. 

"Step  carefully,"  I  enjoined.  "If  you  will 
honor  me  with  your  hand — "  But  she  was  at 
my  side  before  the  words  were  well  out. 

"What  is  it?  What  kind  of  place  do  you 
make  it  out  to  be;  and  is  there  anything  here 
you — do — not — want — to   see  ?" 

I  flashed  the  light  around  and  incidentally 
on  her.  She  was  not  trembling  now.  Her 
cheeks  were  red,  her  eyes  blazing.  She  was 
looking  at  me,  and  not  at  the  darksome  place 
about  her.  But  as  this  was  natural,  it  being 
a  woman's  way  to  look  for  what  she  desires 
to  learn  in  the  face  of  the  man  who  for  the 
moment  is  her  protector,  I  shifted  the  light 
into  the  nooks  and  comers  of  the  low,  damp 
cellar  in  which  we  now  found  ourselves. 

"Bins  for  wine  and  beer,"  I  observed,  "but 
nothing  in  them."     Then  as  I  measured  the 
space  before  me  with  my  eye,  "It  runs  under 
185 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

me  whole  housa     See,  it  is  much  larger  thaxi 
'^he  room  above." 

"Yes,"  she  mechanically  repeated 

I  lowered  the  lantern  to  the  floor  but  quickly 
raised  it  again. 

"What  is  that  on  the  other  side  ?"  I  queried. 
"I  am  sure  there  is  a  break  in  the  wall  over 
in  that  comer." 

"I  can  not  see,"  she  gasped;  certainly  she 
was  very  much  frightened.  "Are  you  going 
to  cross  the  floor  ?" 

"Yes;  and  if  you  do  not  wieh  to  follow  me, 
iit  down  on  these  steps — " 

"No,  I  will  go  where  you  go;  but  this  is 
very  fearful.      Why,   what  is   the  matter?" 

I  had  stepped  aside  in  order  to  avoid  a  trail 
of  footprints  I  saw  extending  aorosa  the  cellar 
floor. 

"Come  around  this  way,"  I  urged.  "If  you 
will  follow  me  I  will  keep  you  from  being  too 
much  frightened." 

She  did  as  I  told  her.  Softly  her  steps 
feU  in  behind  mine,  and  thus  with  wary  tread 
and  peering  eyes  we  made  our  way  to  the  r^ 
mote  end,  where  we  found — or  rather  where 
I  found — that  the  break  which  I  had  noticed 
186 


BEHIXD  THE  WALL 

in  the  uniformitT  of  tlie  wall  was  occasuled 
bv  a  pile  of  old  boxes,  arranged  so  as  to  make 
steps  up  to  a  hole  cut  tbrougli  the  floor  above. 

With  a  sharp  movement  I  wheeled  upon  her. 

"Do  you  see  that  V  I  asked,  pointing  back 
over  my  shoulder. 

* 'Steps,''  she  cried,  "going  up  into  that  part 
of  the  building  where — where — " 

*'Will  you  attempt  them  with  me?  Or  will 
you  stay  here,  in  the  darkness  ?" 

"I— wiU— stay— here." 

It  was  said  with  shortened  breath;  but  she 
seemed  less  frightened  than  when  we  started 
to  cross  the  cellar.  At  all  events  a  fine  look 
of  daring  had  displaced  the  tremulous  aspect 
which  had  so  changed  the  character  of  her 
countenance  a  few  minutes  before. 

"I  will  make  short  work  of  it,"  I  assured 
her  as  I  hastily  ran  up  the  steps.  "Drop  your 
face  into  your  hands  and  you  will  not  be  con- 
scious of  the  darkness.  Besides,  I  will  talk 
to  you  all  the  time.  There  I  I  have  worked 
my  way  up  through  the  hole.  I  have  placed  my 
lantern  on  the  floor  above  and  I  see — What! 
are  you  coming?" 

*'Tes,  I  am  coming." 

187 


..HE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

^  ^leed,  she  was  close  beside  me,  inaintain- 
icg  her  footing  on  the  toppling  boxes  by  a  grip 
on  my  disengaged  arm. 

"Can  you  see?"  I  asked.  ''Wait!  let  me 
pull  you  up;  we  might  as  well  stand  on  the 
floor  as  on  these  boxes." 

Climbing  into  the  room  above,  I  offered  her 
my  hand,  and  in  another  moment  we  stood 
together  in  the  noisome  precincts  of  that 
abom.inable  spot,  with  whose  doleful  story  she 
had  just  made  me   acquainted. 

A  square  of  impenetrable  gloom  confronted 
me  at  the  first  glance — what  might  not  be  the 
result  of  a  second  ? 

I  turned  to  consult  the  appearance  of  the 
lady  beside  me  before  I  took  this  second  look. 
Had  she  the  strength  to  stand  the  ordeal  ? 
Was  she  as  much  moved — or  possibly  more 
moved  than  myself  ?  As  a  woman,  and  the  in- 
timate friend  of  the  Ocumpaughs,  she  should 
be.  But  I  could  not  perceive  that  she  was. 
For  some  reason,  once  in  view  of  this  mysr 
terious  place,  she  was  strangely,  inexplicably, 
impassibly  calm. 

"You  can  bear  it  ?"  I  queried, 

"I  must— K>nly  end   it  quickly." 
188 


behi:n'd  the  wall 

"I  will/'  I  replied,  and  I  held  out  mj  lan- 
tern. 

I  am  not  a  superstitious  man,  but  instinct- 
ively I  looked  up  before  I  looked  about  me.  I 
Lave  no  doubt  that  Mrs.  Carew  did  the  same. 
But  no  stains  were  to  be  seen  on  those  black- 
ened boards  now;  or  rather,  they  were  dark 
with  one  continuous  stain;  and  next  moment 
I  was  examining  with  eager  scrutiny  the  place 
itself. 

Accustomed  to  the  appearance  of  the  cheer- 
ful and  well-furnished  room  on  the  other  side 
of  the  partition,  it  was  a  shock  to  me  (I  will 
not  say  what  it  was  to  her)  to  meet  the  bare 
decaying  walls  and  mouldering  appurtenances  of 
this  dismal  hole.  True,  we  h-ad  just  come 
from  a  description  of  the  place  in  all  the  neg- 
lect of  its  many  years  of  desolation,  yet  the 
smart  finish  of  the  open  portion  we  had  just 
left  poorly  prepared  us  for  what  we  here  en- 
countered. 

But  the  first  impression  over — an  impres- 
sion which  was  to  recur  to  me  many  a  night 
afterward  in  dreams — I  remembered  the  nearer 
and  more  imperative  cause  which  had  dra^vn 
us  thither,  and  turning  the  light  into  each 
189 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

and  every  corner,  looked  eagerly  for  what  I 
so  much  dreaded  to  find. 

A  eouch  to  which  some  old  onsMons  still 
clung  stood  against  the  farther  wall.  Thank 
God!  it  was  empty;  so  were  all  the  corners 
of  the  room.  Nothing  living  and — nothing 
dead! 

Turning  quickly  upon  Mrs.  Carew,  I  made 
haste  to  assure  her  that  our  fears  were  quite 
unfounded. 

But  she  was  not  even  looking  my  way.  Her 
eyes  were  on  the  ground,  and  she  seemed 
merely  waiting — in  some  impatience,  evident- 
ly, but  yet  merely  waiting — for  me  to  finish 
and  be  gone. 

This  was  certainly  odd,  for  the  place  was 
calculated  in  itself  to  rouse  curiosity,  especially 
in  one  who  knew  its  story.  A  table,  thidc 
with  dust  and  blurred  with  dampness,  still  gave 
tokens  of  a  bygone  festivity — among  which  a 
bottle  and  some  glasses  stood  conspicuous. 
Cards  were  there  too,  dingy  and  green  with 
mould — some  on  the  table — some  on  the  floor; 
while  the  open  lid  of  a  small  desk  pushed  up 
dose  to  a  book-case  full  of  books,  still  held  a 
ruaty  pen  and  the  remnants  of  what  looked 
100 


BEHIXD  THE  WALL 

like  the  mouldering  sheets  of  unused  paper. 
As  for  the  rest^ — desolation,  neglect,  horror — 
but  no  child. 

The  relief  was  enormous. 

"It  is  a  dreadful  place/'  I  exclaimed;  "but 
it  might  have  been  worse.  Do  you  want  to 
see  things  nearer?     Shall  we  cross  the  floor?" 

"Is'o,  no.  We  have  not  found  Gwendolen; 
let  us  go.     Oh,  let  us  go!'' 

A  thrill  of  feeling  had  crept  into  her  voice. 
Who  oould  wonder?  Yet  I  was  not  ready 
to  humor  her  very  natural  sensibilities  by  leav- 
ing quite  so  abruptly.  The  floor  interested 
me;  the  cushions  of  that  old  couch  interested 
me;  the  sawn  boards  surrounding  the  hole — 
indeed,  many  things. 

"We  will  go  in  a  moment,"  I  assured  her; 
"but,  first,  cast  your  eyes  along  the  floor.  Don't 
you  see  that  some  one  has  preceded  us  here; 
and  that  not  so  very  long  ago  ?  Some  one 
with  dainty  feet  and  a  skirt  that  fell  on  the 
ground;  in  short,   a  woman  and — a  lady!" 

"I  don't  see,"  she  faltered,  very  much 
frightened;  then  quickly:  "Show  me,  show 
me. 

I  pointed  out  the  marks  in  the  KeaTj  dust 

191 


THE  MILLIOXAIEE  BABY 

of  the  long  neglected  floor;  they  were  umnia- 
takable. 

''Oh!"  she  cried^  ^Vhat  it  is  to  be  a  de- 
tective !  But  who  conld  have  been  here  ?  Wh.o 
would  want  to  be  here  ?  I  think  it  is  horrible 
myself,  and  if  I  were  alone  I  should  faint 
from  terror  and  the  close  air." 

"We  will  not  remain  much  longer,"  I  as- 
sured her,  going  straight  to  the  couch.  "I 
do  not  like  it  either,   but — " 

"What  have  you  found   now  ?" 

Her  voice  seemed  to  come  from  a  great  dis- 
tance behind  me.  Was  this  on  account  of  the 
state  of  her  nerves  or  mine?  I  am  willing 
to  think  the  latter,  for  at  that  moment  my 
eye  took  in  two  unexpected  details.  A  dent 
as  of  a  child's  head  in  one  of  the  mangy  sofa- 
pillows  and  a  crushed  bit  of  colored  sugar 
which  must  once  have  been  a  bit  of  choice 
confectionery. 

"Some  one  besides  a  lady  has  been  here," 
I  decided,  pointing  to  the  one  and  bringing 
back  the  other.  "See!  this  bit  of  candy  is 
quite  fresh.  You  must  acknowledge  that 
This  was  not  walled  up  years  ago  with  the 
rest  of  the  things  we  see  about  us." 
192 


BEHI^^D  THE  WALL 

Her  eyes  stared  at  the  sugary  morsel  I  held 
out  toward  her  in  my  open  palm.  Then  she 
made  a  sudden  inish  which  took  her  to  the 
side  of  the  couch. 

^'Gwendolen  here?"  she  moaned.  "Gwendo- 
len here  ?" 

"Yes,"  I  began;  '^do  not— " 

But  she  had  already  left  the  spot  and  was 
backing  toward  the  opening  up  which  we  had 
come.  As  she  met  my  eye  she  made  a  quick 
turn  and  plimged  below. 

"I  must  have  air,"  she  gasped. 

With  a  glance  at  the  fioor  over  which  she 
had  so  rapidly  passed,  I  hastily  followed  her, 
smiling  grimly  to  myself.  Intentionally  or  un- 
intentionally, she  had  by  this  quick  passage  to 
and  fro  effectually  confused,  if  not  entirely  ob- 
literated, those  evidences  of  a  former  intru- 
sion which,  with  misguided  judgment,  I  had 
just  pointed  out  to  her.  But  recalling  the  still 
more  perfect  line  of  footprints  left  below  to 
which  I  had  not  called  her  attention,  I  felt 
that  I  could  afford  to  ignore  the  present  mis- 
hap. 

As  I  reached  the  cellar  bottom  I  called  to 
her,  for  she  was  already  half-way  across. 
193 


♦     THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

**Di(i  you  notice  where  the  boards  had  been 
sawed?"  I  asked.  "The  sawdust  is  still  on  the 
floor,  and  it  smells  as  fresh  as  if  the  saw  had 
been  at  work  there  yesterday." 

^'No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  she  answered  back 
over  her  shoulder,  still  hurrying  on  so  that 
I  had  to  run  lest  she  should  attempt  the  steps 
in  utter  darkness. 

AVhen  I  reached  the  floor  of  the  bungalow 
the  was  in  the  open  door  panting.  Watch- 
ing her  with  one  eye,  I  drew  back  the  trap 
into  place  and  replaced  the  rug  and  the  three 
nails  I  had  loosened.  Then  I  shut  the  slide 
of  the  lantern  and  joined  her  where  she  stood. 

"Do  you  feel  better  ?"  I  asked.  "It  was 
a  dismal  quarter  of  an  hour.  But  it  was  not 
a  lost  one." 

She  drew  the  door  to  and  locked  it  before 
she   answered;    then    it  was   with   a   question. 

"WTiat  do  you  make  of  all  this,  Mr.  Trevitt?" 

I  replied  as  directly  as  the  circumstances 
demanded. 

"Madam,    it   is   a   startling   answer   to   the 

question  you  put  me  before  we  first  left  your 

house.      You   asked   then   if   the  child   in   the 

wa^n  was   Gwendolen.      How   could   it  have 

194 


BEHIXD  THE  WALL 

been  she  with  this  eWdence  before  us  of  her  hav- 
ing been  concealed  here  at  the  very  time  that 
wagon    was   being    driven    awav   from — " 

^^I  do  not  think  yon  have  reason  enough — '^ 
she  began  and  stopped,  and  did  not  speak 
again  till  we  halted  at  the  foot  of  her  ovm 
porch.  Then  with  the  frank  accent  most  in 
keeping  with  her  general  manner,  however 
much  I  might  distrust  both  accent  and  man- 
ner, she  added  as  if  no  interval  had  inter- 
vened: ^Tf  those  signs  you  noted  are  proofs 
to  you  that  Gwendolen  was  shut  up  in  that 
walled-off  portion  of  the  btmgalow  while  some 
were  seeking  her  in  the  water  and  others  in 
the  wagon,  then  where  is  she  nowf* 


195 


xin 

"we  shall  have  to  begin  again  " 

It  was  a  leading  question  which  I  was  not  sur- 
prised to  see  accompanied  bj  a  very  sharp  look 
from  beneath  the  cloudy  wrap  she  had  wound 
about  her  head. 

^'You  suspect  some  one  or  scHnething/'  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Carew,  with  a  return  of  the  in- 
definable maimer  which  had  characterized  her 
in  the  beginning  of  our  interview.  '^Whom  ? 
What?" 

I  should  have  liked  to  answer  her  candidly, 
and  in  the  spirit,  if  not  the  word?,  of  the 
prophet  of  old,  but  her  womanliness  disarmed 
me.  With  her  eyes  on  me  I  could  get  no 
further  than  a  polite  acknowledgment  of  de- 
feat 

"Mrs.  Carew,  I  am  all  at  sea.  We  shall 
have  to  begin  again." 

"Yes,"  she  answered  like  an  echo — was  it 
sadly  or  gladly? — "you  will  have  to  begin 
again."  Then  with  a  regretful  accent:  "And 
196 


"WE  SHALL  HAVE  TO  BEGIN  AGAIN  " 

I  can  not  help  yon,  for  I  am  going  to  sail 
tomorrow.  I  positively  mnst  go.  Cablegrams 
from  the  other  side  hurry  me.  I  shall  have 
to  leave  Mrs.  Ocumpangh  in  the  midst  of  her 
distress.'' 

"^Vhat  time  does  your  steamer  sail,  Mrs. 
CareTv  ?" 

"At  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  from  the 
Cunard  docks." 

"Nearly  sixteen  hours  from  now.  Perhaps 
fate — or  my  efforts — will  favor  us  before  then 
with  some  solution  of  this  disheartening  prob- 
lem.    Let  us  hope  so." 

A  quick  shudder  to  hide  which  she  was 
reaching  out  her  hand,  when  the  door  behind  us 
opened  and  a  colored  girl  looked  out  Instant- 
ly and  with  the  slightest  possible  loss  of  self- 
possession  Mrs.  Carew  turned  to  motion  the 
intruder  back,  when  the  girl  suddenly  blurted 
out: 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Carew,  Harry  is  so  restlees.  He 
is  sleepy,  he  says  " 

"I  will  be  up  instantly.      Tell  him  that  I 
^-ill  be  up  instantly."     Then  as  the  girl  dis- 
appeared,   she    added,    wixh    sl    quiclv    smile: 
"You  see  I  haven't  any  toys  for  him.     Not 
197 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

being  a  mother  I  forgot  to  put  them  in  his 
trunk." 

As  though  in  response  to  these  words  the 
maid  again  showed  herself  in  the  doorway. 
"Oh,  Mrs.  Carew,"  she  eagerly  exclaimed, 
"there's  a  little  toy  in  the  hall  here,  brought 
over  by  one  of  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's  maidi. 
The  girl  said  that  hearing  that  the  little  boy 
fretted,  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  had  picked  out  one 
of  her  little  girl's  playthings  and  sent  it  over 
with  her  love.  It's  a  little  horse,  ma'am,  with 
curly  mane  and  a  long  tail.  I  am  sure  'twill 
just  please  Master  Harry." 

Mrs.  Carew  turned  upon  me  a  look  brim- 
ming with  feeling. 

"What  thoughtfulness !  ^Vhat  self-control  I" 
she  cried.  "Take  up  the  horse,  Dinah.  It 
was  one  of  Gwendolen's  favorite  pla}i:hings," 
she  explained  to  me  as  the  girl  vanished 

I  did  not  answer.  I  was  hearing  again 
in  my  mind  that  desolate  cry  of  "Philo !  Philo ! 
Philo!"  which  an  hour  or  so  before  had  rung 
down  to  me  from  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's  open 
window.  There  had  been  a  wildness  in  the 
tone,  which  spoke  of  a  tossing  head  on  a 
feverish  pillow.  Certainly  an  irreconcilable 
198 


"WE  SHALL  HAVE  TO  BEGIX  AGAlK'* 

picture  with  the  one  just  suggested  by  Mrs. 
Carew  of  the  considerate  friend  sending  out 
the  toys  of  her  lost  one  to  a  neighbor's  peevish 
child. 

Mrs.  Carew  appeared  to  notice  the  preoc- 
cupation with  which  I  lingered  on  the  lower 
step. 

"You  like  children,"  she  hazarded.  "Or 
have  you  interested  yourself  in  this  matter 
purely  from  business  reasons?" 

"Business  reasons  were  sufficient,"  was  my 
guarded  reply.  But  I  like  children  very 
much.  I  should  be  most  happy  if  I  could  see 
this  little  Harry  of  yours  nearer.  I  have  only 
seen  him  from  a  distance,  you  know." 

She  drew  back  a  step ;  then  she  met  my  look 
squarely  in  the  moonlight.  Her  face  was 
flushed,  but  I  attempted  no  apology  for  a 
presumption  which  could  have  but  one  excuse. 
I  meant  that  she  should  understand  me  if  I 
did  not  her. 

"You  must  love  children,"  she  remarked,  but 
not  with  her  usual  correctness  of  tone.  Then 
before  I  could  attempt  an  answer  to  the  im- 
plied sarcasm  a  proud  light  came  into  her 
eyes,  and  with  a  gracious  bend  of  her  fine 
199 


THE  MILLIOIS^AIKE  BABY 

figure  she  met  my  Wk  with  one  equally   as 
frank,  and  cheerfully  declared: 

"You  shall.      Come  early  in  the  morning." 
In    another    moment   she   had   vanished   in- 
side and  closed  the  door.     I  was  defeated  for 
the  nonce,  or  else  she  was  all  she  appeared  to 
be  and  I  a  dreaming  fool. 


200 


XIV 

ESPIONAGE 

As  I  moved  slowly  awaj  into  the  night  the 
question  thu^  raised  in  my  own  mind  assumed 
greater  and  more  vital  consequence.  Was  she  a 
true  woman  or  what  my  fears  pictured  her — the 
scheming,  unprincipled  abductor  of  Gwendolen 
Ocumpaugh?  She  looked  true,  sometimes 
acted  so ;  but  I  had  heard  and  seen  what  would 
rouse  any  man's  suspicions,  and  though  I  was 
not  in  a  position  to  say :  "Mrs.  Carew,  this  was 
not  your  first  visit  to  that  scene  of  old  tragedy. 
You  have  been  there  before,  and  with  Gwen- 
dolen in  your  arms,"  I  was  morally  certain 
that  this  was  so ;  that  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's  most 
trusted  friend  was  responsible  for  the  disap- 
pearance of  her  child,  and  I  was  not  quite 
sure  that  the  child  was  not  now  under  her 
very  roof. 

It  was  very  late  by  this  time,  but  I  meant,  if 
possible,  to  settle  some  of  these  doubts  before  I 
left  the  neighborhood  of  the  cottage. 
201 


THE  MILLIOXAIKE  BABY 

How  ?  By  getting  a  glimpse  of  Mrs.  Carew 
with  her  mask  off ;  in  the  company  of  the  child, 
if  I  could  compass  it;  if  not,  then  entirely 
alone  with  her  own  thoughts,  plans  and  sub- 
tleties. 

It  was  an  act  more  in  line  wdth  my  partner's 
talents  than  my  own,  but  I  could  not  afford 
to  let  this  deter  me.  I  had  had  my  chance 
with  her,  face  to  face.  For  hours  I  had  been 
in  her  company.  I  had  seen  her  in  various 
stages  of  emotion,  sometimes  real  and  some- 
times assumed,  but  at  no  moment  had  I  been 
sure  of  her,  possibly  because  at  no  moonent 
had  she  been  sure  of  me.  In  our  first  visit 
to  the  bungalow;  in  her  own  little  library, 
during  the  reading  of  that  engrossing  tale  by 
which  she  had  so  evidently  attempted  to  lull 
my  suspicions  awakened  by  her  one  irrepres- 
sible show  of  alarm  on  the  scene  of  Gwendolen's 
disappearance,  and  afterward  when  she  saw 
that  they  might  be  so  lulled  but  not  dispelled ; 
in  the  cellar;  and,  above  all,  in  that  walled- 
off  room  where  we  had  come  across  the  signs 
of  Gwendolen's  presence,  wkicli  even  she  could 
not  disavow,  she  kad  felt  my  eyes  upon  her 
and  made  me  conscious  that  she  had  so  felt 
202 


ESPIOISTAGE 

them.  Xow  she  must  believe  them  removed,  and 
if  I  could  but  gain  the  glimpse  1  speak  of 
I  should   see  this  woman  as   she  was. 

I  thought  I  could  manage  this. 

I  had  listened  to  the  maid's  steps  as  she 
returned  up  stairs,  and  I  believed  I  knew  in 
what  direction  thej  had  tended  after  she 
reached  the  floor  above.  I  would  just  see  if 
one  of  the  windows  on  the  south  side  was 
lighted,  and,  if  so,  if  it  was  in  anj  way  ac- 
cessible. 

To  make  my  way  through  the  shrubbery 
without  rousing  the  attention  of  any  one  in- 
side or  out  required  a  circumspection  that  tried 
me  greatly.  But  by  dint  of  strong  self-con- 
trol I  succeeded  in  getting  to  the  vantage- 
place  I  sought,  without  attracting  attention  or 
causing  a  single  window  to  fly  up.  This  re- 
assured me,  and  perceiving  a  square  of  light 
in  the  dark  mass  of  wall  before  me  I  peered 
about  among  the  trees  overlooking  this  part 
of  the  building  for  one  I  could  climb  without 
too  much  difficulty. 

The  one  which  looked  most  feasible  was  a 
maple  with  low-growing  branches,  and  throw- 
ing off  my  coat  I  was  soon  half-way  to  ita 
203 


THE  MILLIOXAIEE  BABY 

top  and  on  a  level,  or  nearly  no,  with  the 
window  on  which  I  had  fixed  mj  eje. 

There  were  no  curtains  to  this  window — 
the  house  being  half  dismantled  in  anticipa- 
tion of  Mrs.  Carew's  departure — but  it  was 
still  protected  by  a  shade,  and  this  was  drawn 
down,  nearly  to  the  ledge. 

But  not  quite.  A  narrow  space  intervened 
which,  to  an  eye  placed  where  mine  was,  of- 
fered a  peep-hole  of  more  or  less  satisfactory 
proportions,  and  this  space,  I  soon  saw^,  widened 
perceptibly  from  time  to  time  as  the  wind 
caught  at  the  shade   and  blew  it  in. 

With  utmost  caution  I  shifted  my  position 
till  I  could  bring  my  eye  fairly  in  line  with 
the  interior  of  this  room,  and  finding  that  the 
glimpse  given  revealed  little  but  a  blue  wall 
and  some  snowy  linen,  I  waited  for  tlie  breeze 
to  blow  that  I  might  see  more. 

It  came  speedily,  and  in  a  gust  which  lifted 
the  shade  and  thus  disclosed  the  whole  inside 
of  the  room.  It  was  an  instantaneous  glimpse, 
but  in  that  moment  the  picture  projected  up- 
on my  eye  satisfied  me  that,  despite  my  doubts, 
despite  my  causes  for  suspicion,  I  had  been 
doing  this  woman  the  greatest  injustice  in 
204 


ESPIONAGE 

supposing  that  her  relations  to  the  child  she 
had  brought  into  her  home  were  other  than  she 
had  made  out 

She  had  come  up  as  she  had  promised,  and 
had  seated  herself  on  the  bed  with  her  face 
turned  toward  the  window.  I  could  thus  catch 
its  whole  expression — an  expression  this  time 
involuntary  and  natural  as  the  feelings  which 
prompted  it  The  child,  with  his  newly-ob- 
tained toy  clutched  in  one  hand,  knelt  on  the 
coverlet  with  his  head  pressed  against  her 
breast,  saying  his  prayers.  I  could  hear  his 
soft  murmur,  though  I  could  not  catch  the 
words. 

But  sweet  as  was  the  sight  of  his  little 
"white-clad  form  burying  its  head,  with  its  mass 
of  dusky  curls,  against  the  breast  in  which  he 
most  confided,  it  was  not  this  alone  which  gave 
to  the  moment  its  almost  sacred  character.  It  was 
the  rapturous  look  with  which  Mrs.  Carew 
gazed  down  on  this  little  head — the  mother- 
look,  which  admits  of  nothing  false,  and  which 
when  once  seen  on  a  woman's  face,  whether 
she  be  mother  in  fact  or  mother  only  in  heart — 
idealizes  her  in  the  mind  for  ever. 

Eloquent  with  love  and  holy  devotion  the 
205 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

scene  flashed  upon  mj  eyes  for  a  moment 
and  was  gone.  But  that  moment  made  its 
impression,  and  settled  for  good  and  all  the 
question  with  which  I  had  started  upon  this 
adventure.  She  luas  the  true  woman  and  I 
was  the  dreaming  fool. 

As  I  realized  this  I  also  realized  that  three 
days  out  of  the  seven  were  gona 


206* 


XY 

A    PHANTASM 

I  certainly  had  every  right  to  conclude  that 
this  would  end  my  adventures  for  the  day. 
But  I  soon  found  that  I  was  destined  to  have 
yet  another  experience  before  returning  to 
ray  home  in  Xew  York. 

The  Tveather  had   changed   during  the   last 
hour  and  at  the  moment  I  emerged  from  the 
shadows  of  the  hedge-row  into  the  open  space 
fronting  the    Ocumpaugh    dock,   a    gleam    of 
lightning   shot   across    the    west    and   by    it    I 
Baw  what   looked  like  the   dusky   figure   of  a 
man  leaning  against  a  pile  at  the  extreme  end 
of  the  boat-house.      Something  in  the   immo- 
bility maintained  by  this  figure  in  face  of  the 
quick  flashes  which  from  time  to  time  lit  up  the 
scene,   reminded    me   of    the   presence    I   had 
come  upon  hours  before  in  front  of  Mrs.   Ca- 
rew's  house;  and  moved  by  the  instinct  of  my 
calling,  I  took  advantage  of  the  few  minutes 
yet  remaining  before  train  time,  to  make  my 
way  in  its  direction,  cautiously,  of  course,  and 
207 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

with  due  allowance  for  the  possible  illumi- 
nation following  those  fitful  bursts  of  light 
which  brought  everjtliing  to  view  in  one  mo- 
ment, only  to  plunge  it  all  havk  into  the 
profoundest  obscurity  the  next. 

I  had  two  motives  for  my  proceeding.  One, 
as  I  say,  sprang  from  the  natural  instinct  of 
investigation;  the  other  was  kindlier  and  lees 
personal. 

I  did  not  understand  the  meaning  of  the 
posture  which  this  person  had  now  assumed; 
nor  did  I  like  it  Why  should  this  man — why 
should  any  man  stand  like  this  at  the  dead  of 
night  staring  into  waters,  which,  if  they  had 
their  tale  to  tell,  had  not  yet  told  it — unless 
his  interest  in  the  story  he  read  there  was 
linked  with  emotions  such  as  it  was  my  bus- 
iness to  know  ?  For  those  most  openly  con- 
cerned in  Gwendolen's  loss,  the  search  had 
ceased;  why,  then,  tliis  lone  and  lingering 
watch  on  the  part  of  one  w^ho  might,  for  all  I 
knew,  be  some  over-zealous  detective,  but  who 
I  was  rather  inclined  to  believe  was  a  person 
much  more  closely  concerned  in  the  child's 
fate,  viz:  the  next  helr-in-law,  Mr.  Rathbone. 
If  it  were  he,  his  presence  there  savored  of  mys- 
208 


A  PHAXTASAI 

tery  or  it  savored  of  the  tragic  The  latter 
seemed  the  more  likely  hypothesis,  judging 
from  the  expression  of  his  face,  as  seen  by  me 
under  the  lantern.  It  behooved  me  then  to  ap- 
proach him,  but  to  approach  him  in  the  shadow 
of  the  boat-house. 

What  passed  in  the  next  few  minutes 
seemed  to  me  unreal  and  dreamlike.  I  was 
tired,  I  suppose,  and  so  more  than  usually  sus- 
ceptible. iSTight  had  no  unfamiliar  effects  for 
me,  even  night  on  the  borders  of  this  great 
river;  nor  was  my  occupation  a  new  one,  or 
the  expectation  I  felt,  as  fearful  and  absorb- 
ing as  tliat  with  which  an  hour  or  two  before 
I  had  raised  my  lantern  in  that  room  in  which 
the  doleful  mystery  of  half  a  century  back, 
trenched  upon  the  still  more  moving  mystery 
of  to-day.  Yet,  that  experience  had  the  sharp- 
ness of  fact;  while  this  had  only  the  vagueness 
of  a  phantasm. 

I  was  very  near  him  but  the  lightning  had 
ceased  to  flash,  and  I  found  it  impossible  to 
discern  whether  or  not  the  fonn  I  had  oome 
there  to  identify,  yet  lingered  in  its  old  po- 
^sition   against  the  pile. 

I  therefore  awaited  the  next  gleam  with 
209 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

great  aiixiety,  an  anxiety  only  partly  allevi- 
ated by  the  certainty  I  felt  of  hearing  the 
faint,  scarcely  recognizable  sound  of  his  breath- 
ing. Had  the  storm  passed  over?  Would  no 
more  flashes  (3ome  ?  Ah,  he  is  moving — that 
is  a  sigh  I  hear — no  detective's  exclamation  of 
impatience,  but  a  sufferer's  sigh  of  depression 
or  remorse.     What  was  in  the  man's  mind? 

A  steamboat  or  some  equally  brilliantly  il- 
luminated craft  was  passing,  far  out  in  the 
channel ;  the  shimmer  of  its  lights  gave  sudden 
cheer  to  the  distant  prospect;  the  churning  of 
its  paddles  suggested  life  and  action  and  ii^ 
re-sistibly  drew  my  eye^  that  way.  Would 
his  follow?  Would  I  find  his  attitude 
'changed  ? 

Ah !  the  long  delayed  flash  has  come  and 
gone.  He  is  standing  there  yet,  but  no  longer 
in  an  attitude  of  contemplation.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  is  bending  over  the  waters  search- 
ing with  eager  aspect,  where  so  many  had 
searched  before  him,  and,  in  the  instant,  as 
his  face  and  form  leaped  into  sight,  I  beheld 
his  clenched  right  hand  fall  on  his  breast  and 
heard  on  his  lips  the  one  word — 
''Guilty!" 

210 


XVI 

"an  all-conquebing  beauty  " 

I  was  one  of  the  first  to  procure  and  read 
a  Xew  York  paper  next  morning.  Would 
I  discover  in  the  columns  any  hint  of  the 
preceding  day's  events  in  Yonkers,  -which,  if 
knoym,  must  for  ever  upset  the  yragon  theory? 
Xo,  that  secret  was  still  mv  secret,  only  shared 
by  the  doctor,  who,  so  far  as  I  understood 
him,  had  no  intention  of  breaking  his  self- 
imposed  silence  till  his  fears  of  some  disaster 
to  the  little  one  had  received  confirmation. 
I  had  therefore  several  hours  before  me  yet  for 
free  work. 

The  first  thing  I  did  was  to  hunt  up  Miss 
Graham. 

She  met  me  with  eagerness ;  an  eagerness  I 
found  it  difiicult  to  dispel  with  my  disappoint- 
ing news  in  regard  to  Doctor  Pool. 

''He  is  not  the  man,"  said  I.  ''Can  you 
think  of  any  other  ?" 

She   shook   her   head,    her   large   gray   eyes 

211 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

showing  astonishment  and  what  I  felt  bound 
to  regard  as  an  honest  bewilderment 

"I  wish  to  mention  a  name,"  said  I. 

''One  I  know?''  she  asked. 

"Yes." 

"I  know  of  no  other  person  capable  of  wrong- 
ing that  child." 

''You  are  probably  right.  But  there  is  a 
gentleman — one  interested  in  the  family — a 
man  with  something  to  gain — " 

"Mr.  Rathbone  ?  You  must  not  mention 
him  in  any  such  connection.  He  is  one  of 
the  best  men  I  know — kind,  good,  and  oh,  so 
sensitive!  A  dozen  fortunes  wouldn't  tempt 
a  man  of  his  stamp  to  do  any  one  living  a 
wrong,  let  alone  a  little  innocent  child." 

"I  know ;  but  there .  are  other  temptations 
greater  than  money  to  some  men;  infinitely 
greater  to  one  as  sensitive  as  you  say  he  is. 
What  if  he  loved  a  woman !  What  if  his  only 
hope  of  winning  her — " 

"You  must  not  think  that  of  him,"  she  again 
interposed.  "Nothing  could  make  a  villain  of 
him.  I  have  seen  him  too  many  times  in  cir- 
cumstances which  show  a  man's  character.  He 
is  good  through  and  through,  and  in  all  that 
212 


^^A.X  ALL-COXQUEEIXG  BEAUTY  " 

concerns  Gwendolen,  honorable  to  the  core.  I 
once  saw  him  save  her  life  at  the  risk  of  his 
own." 

"You  did?     When?     Years  ago?'^ 

"!tTo,  lately;  within  the  last  year." 

"Tell  me  the  circumstances." 

She  did.  They  were  convincing.  As  I 
listened,  the  phantasm  of  the  night  before  as- 
sumed fainter  and  fainter  proportions.  When 
she  had  jSjiished  I  warmly  remarked  that  I 
was  glad  to  hear  the  story  of  so  heroic  an  act 

And  I  was.  Xot  that  I  ascribed  too  deep  a 
significance  to  the  word  which  had  escaped 
]\Ir.  Rathbone  on  the  dock,  but  because  I  was 
glad  to  have  my  instinctive  confidence  in  the 
man  verified  by  facts. 

It  seemed  to  clear  the  way  before  me. 

"Ellie,"  said  I  (it  seemed  both  natural  and 
proper  to  call  her  by  that  name  now),  ^'what 
explanation  would  you  give  if,  under  any  cir- 
cumstances (all  circumstances  are  }X)ssible,  you 
know),  you  heard  this  gentleman  speak  of 
feeling  guilty  in  connection  with  Gwendolen 
Ocumpaugh  ?" 

*^I  should  have  to  know  the  circumstanoes," 
was  her  quiet  answer. 

213 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

"Let  me  imagine  some.  Say  that  it  waa 
night,  late  night,  at  an  hour  when  the  most 
hardened  amongst  us  are  in  a  peculiarly  re- 
sponsive condition ;  say  that  he  had  been  spend- 
ing hours  near  the  house  of  the  woman  he  had 
long  loved  but  had  quite  despaired  of  winning 
in  his  greatly  hampered  condition,  and  with 
the  fever  of  this  longing  upon  him,  but  re- 
strained by  emotions  the  nature  of  which  we  can 
not  surmise,  had  now  found  his  way  down  to 
the  river — to  the  spot  where  boats  have  clus- 
tered ajid  men  crouched  in  the  gruesome  and 
unavailing  search  we  know  of;  say  that  he 
hung  there  long  over  the  water,  gazing  down 
in  silence,  in  solitude,  alone,  as  he  thought, 
with  his  own  conscience  and  the  suggestions 
offered  by  that  running  stream  where  some 
still  think,  despite  facts,  despite  all  the  proba- 
bilities, that  Gwendolen  has  found  rest,  and 
when  his  heart  was  full,  should  be  seen  to 
strike  his  breast  and  utter,  with  a  quick  turn 
of  his  face  up  the  hill,  this  one  word, 
^Guilty'  r 

"Wtat  would  I  think?     This:     That  being 
overwrought  by  the  struggle  you  mention   (a 
struggle  we  can  possibly  understand  when  we 
214 


*'AN  AlX-CONQUEKIXG  BEAUTY  '' 

consider  the  unavoidable  conscio"iisnes3  which 
must  be  his  of  the  great  change  which  would 
be  effected  in  all  his  prospects  if  Gwendolen 
should  not  be  found),  he  gave  the  name  of  guilt 
to  feelings  which  some  would  call  simply  hu- 
man." 

"Ellie,  you  are  an  oracle."  This  thought  of 
hers  had  been  my  thought  ever  since  I  had  had 
time  really  to  reflect  upon  the  matter.  ^'I  won- 
der if  you  will  have  an  equally  wise  reply  to 
give  to  my  next  question?" 

^'I  can  not  say.  I  speak  from  intuition;  I 
am  not  really  wise." 

^'Intuition  is  above  wisdom.  Does  your  in- 
tuition tell  you  that  Mrs,  Carew  is  the  true 
friend  she  professes  to  be  to  Mrs.  Ocum- 
paugh  ?" 

''Ah,  that  is  a  different  thing!" 

The  clear  brow  I  loved — there!  how  words 
escape  a  man! — lost  its  smoothness  and  her 
eyes  took  on  a  troubled  aspect,  while  her  words 
came  slowly. 

"I  do  not  know  how  to  answer  that  offhand. 

Sometimes  I  have  felt  that  her  very  soul  was 

knit  to  that  of  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,  and  again  I 

have  had  my  doubts.     But  never  deep  ones; 

215 


THE  MILLIOKAIEE  BABY 

never  any  such  as  would  nmke  it  easy  for  me 
to  answer  the  question  you  have  just  put  me." 
"Was  her  love  for  Gwendolen  sincere?"   I 
asked. 

"Oh,  yes;  oh,  yes.  That  is,  I  always 
thought  so,  and  with  no  qualification,  till  some- 
thing in  her  conduct  when  she  first  heard  of 
Gwendolen's  disappearance — I  can  not  describe 
it — ^gave  me  a  sense  of  disappointment.  She 
was  shocked,  of  course,  and  she  was  grieved, 
but  not  hopelessly  so.  There  was  something 
lacking  in  her  manner — we  all  felt  it;  Mrs. 
Ocumpaugh  felt  it,  and  let  her  dear  friend  go 
the  moment  she  showed  the  slightest  inclina- 
tion to  do  so." 

"There  were  excuses  for  Mrs.  Carew,  just 
at  that  time,"  said  I.  "You  forget  the  new 
interest  which  had  come  into  her  life.  It  was 
natural  that  she  should  be  preoccupied." 

"With  thoughts  of  her  little  nephew?"  re- 
plied Miss  Graham.  "True,  true ;  but  she  had 
been  so  fond  of  Gwendolen!  You  would  have 
thought—  But  why  all  this  talk  about  Mrs. 
Carew  ?  You  don't  believ6 — ^you  surely  can  not 
believe — " 

"That  Mrs.   Carew  is  a  charming  woman! 
216 


"AN  ALL-CONQUERING  BEAUTY  '* 

Ob,  yes,  but  I  do.  Mr.  Ratbbone  sbows  good 
taste." 

"Ab,  is  sbe  tiie  one?'' 

"Did  you  not  know  it?" 

"No;  yet  I  bave  seen  tbem  together  many 
times.  Now  I  understand  much  that  bas  al- 
ways been  a  mystery  to  me.  He  never  pressed 
his  suit;  be  loved,  but  never  harassed  her.  Ob, 
he  is  a  good  man !"    This  with  emphasis. 

"Is  sbe  a  good  woman?" 

Miss  Graham's  eyes  suddenly  fell,  then  rose 
again  until  they  met  mine  fully  and  frankly. 

"I  bave  no  reason,"  said  sbe,  '*to  believe  her 
otherwise.  I  have  never  seen  anything  in  her 
to  hinder  my  esteem;   only — " 

"Finish  that  ^only.'" 

^*Sbe  does  not  appeal  to  me  as  many  lesa 
gifted  women  do.  Perhaps  I  am  secretly 
jealous  of  the  extreme  fondness  Gwendolen 
bas  always  shown  for  her.  If  so,  the  fault 
is  in  me,  not  in  her." 

What  I  said  in  reply  is  not  germane  to  this 
story. 

After  being  assured  by  a  few  more  discreet 
inquiries  in  some  other  perfectly  safe  quarters 
that  Miss  Graham's  opinion  of  Mr.  Ratbbone 

217 


THE  MILLIOKAIRE  BABY 

was  shared  bj  those  who  best  knew  him,  I  re- 
turned to  the  one  spot  most  likely  to  afford 
me  a  clue  to,  if  no  explanation  of,  this  elusive 
mystery. 

What  did  I  propose  to  myself?  First,  to 
revisit  Mrs.  Carew  and  make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  the  boy  Harry.  I  no  longer  doubted 
his  being  just  what  she  called  him,  but  she 
had  asked  me  to  call  for  this  purpose  and  I 
had  no  excuse  for  declining  the  invitation,  even 
if  I  had  desired  to  do  so.  Afterward — ^but 
first  let  us  finish  with  Mrs.  Carew. 

As  she  entered  her  reception-room  that 
morning  she  looked  so  bright — that  is,  with  the 
instinctive  brightness  of  a  naturally  vivacious 
temperament — that  I  wondered  if  I  had  been 
mistaken  in  my  thought  that  she  had  had  no 
sleep  all  that  night,  simply  because  many  of  the 
lights  in  her  house  had  not  been  put  out  till 
morning.  But  an  inspection  of  her  face  revealed 
lines  of  care,  which  only  her  smile  could  ef- 
face, and  she  was  not  quite  ready  for  smiles, 
affable  and  gracious  as  she  showed  herself. 

Her  first  words,  just  as  I  expected,  were: 

"There  is  nothing  in  the  papers  about  the 
child  in  the  wagon." 

218 


''A^  ALL-COi^^QUERING  BEAUTY  " 

*'l^o;  everything  does  not  get  into  tile 
papers.'' 

'^Will  what  we  saw  and  what  we  found  in 
the  bungalow  last  night?'' 

"I  hardly  think  so.  That  is  our  own  special 
clue,  Mrs.  Carew — if  it  is  a  clua" 

^^You  seem  to  regard  it  as  such." 

With  a  shiTig  I  declared  that  we  had  oomfl 
upon  a  mystery  of  some  kind, 

^'But  the  child  is  not  dead  ?  That  you  feel 
demonstrated — or  don't  you?" 

'^As  I  said  last  night,  I  do  not  know  what 
to  think.     Ah;  is  that  tlie  little  boy?" 

"Yes,"  she  gaily  responded,  as  the  glad  step 
of  a  child  was  heard  descending  the  stairs. 
^'Hari-y!  come  here,  Harry!"  she  cried,  with 
that  joyous  accent  which  a  child's  presence 
seems  to  call  out  in  some  women.  "Here  is 
a  gentleman,  who  would  like  to  shake  hands 
with  you." 

A  sprite  of  a  child  entered;  a  perfect  sun- 
beam irradiating  the  whole  room.  If,  under 
the  confidence  induced  by  the  vision  I  had  had 
of  him  on  his  knees  the  night  before,  any  sus- 
picion remained  in  my  mind  of  his  being 
Gwendolen  Ocumpaugh  in  disguise,  it  vanished 
210 


THE  MILLIOISTAIRE  BABY 

at  sight  of  the  fearless  head,  lifted  high  in 
boyish  freedom,  and  the  gay  swish,  swish  of 
the   whip    in    his   nervous   little   hand. 

"Harry  is  playing  horse,"  he  cried,  gallop- 
ing toward  me  in  what  he  evidently  considered 
true  jockey  style. 

I  made  a  gesture  and  stopped  him. 

"How  do  you  do,  little  man  ?  What  did  you 
say  your  name  is  ?" 

"Harry,"  this  very  stoutly. 

"Harry  what?  Harry  Carew?" 

"jSTo,    Harry;    just   Harry." 

"And  how  do  you  like  it  here?" 

"I  like  it;  I  like  it  better  than  my  old 
home." 

"Where  was  your  old  home?" 

"I  don't  know.     I  didn't  like  it" 

"He  was  with  uncongenial  people,  and  he 
is  very  sensitive,"  put  in  Mrs.  Carew,  softly. 

"I  like  it  here,"  he  repeated,  "and  I  like 
the  big  ocean.  I  am  going  on  the  ocean.  And 
I  like  horses.  Get  up,  Dandy!"  and  he 
cracked  his  whip  and  was  off  again  on  his 
imaginary  trot 

I  felt  very  foolish   over  the  doubts   I  haxi 
SO  openly  evinced.     This  was  not  only  a  boy 
220 


"AN  ALL-CONQUERIXG  BEAUTY '' 

to  the  marrow  of  his  bones,  but  he  was,  as 
any  eye  could  see,  the  near  relative  she  called 
him.  In  my  embarrassment  I  rose ;  at  all  events 
I  soon  found  myself  standing  near  the  door 
with  Mrs.  Carew. 

"A  fine  fellow !''  I  enthusiastically  ex- 
claimed; ^^and  startlingly  like  you  in  expres- 
sion.   He  is  your  nephew,  I  believe  ?" 

'^es,"  she  replied,  somewhat  wistfully  I 
thought 

I  felt  that  I  should  apologize  for — well, 
perhaps  for  the  change  she  must  have  discerned 
in  my  manner. 

"The  likeness  caused  me  a  shock.  I  was 
not  prepared  for  it,  I  suppose." 

She  looked  at  me  quite  wonderingly. 

"I  have  never  heard  any  one  speak  of  it 
before.  I  am  glad  that  you  see  it"  And  she 
seemed  glad,  very  glad. 

But  I  know  that  for  some  reason  she  was 
gladder  yet  when  I  turned  to  depart  How- 
ever, she  did  not  hasten  me. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  next?"  she  in- 
quired, as  she  courteously  led  the  way  through 
the  piles  of  heaped-up  boxes  and  baskets,  the 
number  of  which  had  rather  grown  than  di- 
221 


THE  MILLIONATRE  BABY 

minished   since  my   visit   the  evening  before; 
"Pardon  mj  asking.'^ 

"Kesort  to  my  last  means/^  said  1.  "See 
and  talk  with  Mrs.   Ocumpaugh." 

An  instant  of  hesitation  on  her  part,  so  short, 
however,  that  I  could  hardly  detect  it,  then 
she   declared : 

*'But  you  can  not  do  that" 

*^Why   not?'' 

"She  is  ill;  I  am  sure  that  they  will  let 
no  one  approach  her.  One  of  her  maids  was 
in  this  morning.  She  did  not  even  ask  me 
to  come  over." 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  I,  'Tout  I  shall  make 
the  effort.  The  illness  which  affects  Mrs. 
Ocumpaugh  can  be  best  cured  by  the  restora- 
tion of  her  child." 

"But  you  have  not  found  Gwendolen?"  she 
replied. 

"!N"o;  but  I  have  discovered  footprints  on 
the  dust  of  the  bungalow  floor,  and,  as  you 
know,  a  bit  of  candy  which  looks  as  if  it  had 
been  ci-ushed  in  a  sleeping  child's  hand,  and 
I  am  in  need  of  every  aid  possible  in  order 
to  make  the  most  of  these  disco verie?.  They 
may  point  the  way  to  Gwendolen's  present 
222 


"AN  ALL-CO:N^QU:ERmG  BEAUTY  " 

"whereabouts  and  they  may  not.  But  they 
shall  be  given  every  chance/' 

"Whoop !  get  up !  get  up !"  broke  in  a  child- 
ish voice  from  the  upper  landing. 

"Am  I  not  right?"  I  asked. 

"Always;  only  I  am  sorry  for  Mrs.  Ocum- 
paugh.  May  I  tell  you — "  as  I  laid  my  hand 
upon  the  outer  door-knob — "just  how  to  ap- 
proach her?" 

"Certainly,  if  you  will  be  so  good.** 

"I  would  not  ask  for  Miss  Porter.  Ask 
for  Celia;  she  is  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's  special 
maid.  Let  her  carry  your  message — if  you 
feel  that  it  will  do  any  good  to  disturb  her." 

"Thank  you;  the  recommendation  is  valu- 
abla  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Carew.  I  may 
not  see  you  again;  may  I  wish  you  a  safe 
journey  ?" 

"Certainly;  are  we  not  almost  friends?" 

Why  did  I  not  make  my  bow  and  go? 
There  was  nothing  more  to  be  said — at  least 
by  me.  Was  I  held  by  something  in  her  man- 
ner? Doubtless,  for  while  I  was  thus  reason- 
ing with  myself  she  followed  me  out  on  to  the 
porch,  and  with  some  remark  as  to  the  beauty 
of  the  morning,  led  me  to  an  opening  in  the 
223 


THE  MILLIOISTAIRE  BABY 

vines,  whence  a  fine  view  could  be  caught  of 
the  river. 

But  it  was  not  for  the  view  she  had  brought 
me  there.  This  was  evident  enough  from  her 
manner,  and  soon  she  paused  in  her  observa- 
tions on  the  beauties  of  nature,  and  with  a 
strange  ringing  emphasis  for  which  I  was  not 
altogether  prepared,  remarked  with  feeling: 

"I  may  be  making  a  mistake — I  was  al- 
ways an  unconventional  woman — ^but  I  think 
you  ought  to  know  sometliing  of  Mrs.  Ooum- 
paugh^s  private  history  before  you  see  her. 
It  is  not  a  common  one — at  least  it  has  its 
romantic  elements — and  an  acquaintance  with 
some  of  its  features  is  almost  necessary  to 
you  if  you  expect  to  approach  her  on  so 
delicate  a  matter  with  any  hope  of  success. 
But  perhaps  you  are  better  informed  on  this 
subject  than  I  supposed?  Detectives  are  a 
mine  of  secret  intelligence,  I  am  told;  possibly 
you  have  already  learned  from  some  other 
source  the  story  of  her  marriage  and  home- 
coming to  Homewood  and  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances of  her  early  married  life  ?" 

"]^o,"  I  disclaimed  in  great  relief,  and  I 
have    no    doubt    with    unnecessary    vivacity. 

224 


''AX  ALL-COXQUERIXG  BEAUTY  " 

*'0n   the   contrary,    I   have   never   heard   any- 
thing said  in  regard  to  it," 

''Would  you  like  to  ?  Men  have  not  the 
curiosity  of  women,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  hore 
you,  but — I  see  that  I  shall  not  do  that" 
she  exclaimed.  ''Sit  down,  Mr.  Trevitt;  I 
shall  not  detain  you  long;  I  have  not  much 
time  myself." 

As  she  sank  into  a  chair  in  saying  this,  I 
had  no  alternative  but  to  follow  her  example- 
I  took  pains,  however,  to  choose  one  which 
brought  me  into  the  shadow  of  the  vines,  for 
I  felt  some  embarrassment  at  this  new  turn 
in  the  conversation,  and  was  conscious  that  I 
should  have  more  or  less  difficulty  in  hiding 
my  only  too  intense  interest  in  all  that  con- 
cerned the   lady  of  whom  we  were  speaking. 

"Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  was  a  western  woman," 
Mrs.  Carew  began  softly;  ''the  oldest  of  five 
daughters.  There  was  not  much  money  in 
the  family,  but  she  had  beauty,  a  commanding, 
all-conquering  beauty;  not  the  beauty  you  see 
in  her  to-day,  but  that  exquisite,  persuasive 
loveliness  which  seizes  upon  the  imagination 
as  well  as  moves  the  heart  I  have  a  picture 
of  her  at  eighteen — but  never  mind  that" 
225 


THE  MILLIOJS^  AlEE  BABY 

Was  it  affection  for  her  friend  which  made 
Mrs.  Carew's  always  rich  voice  so  very  mel- 
low? I  wdshed  I  knew;  but  I  was  successful, 
I  think,  in  keeping  that  wish  out  of  my  face, 
and  preserving  my  manner  of  the  simply  po- 
lite listener. 

"Mr.  Ocumpaugh  was  on  a  hunting  trip,'' 
she  proceeded,  after  a  slight  glance  mj  way. 
"He  had  traveled  the  world  over  and  seen  beau- 
tiful women  everywhere;  but  there  was  some- 
thing in  Marion  Allison  which  he  had  found 
in  no  other,  and  at  the  end  of  their  first  in- 
terview he  determined  to  make  her  his  wifa 
A  man  of  impulses,  but  also  a  man  of  steady 
resolution,  Mr.  Trevitt.  Perhaps  you  know 
this  ?" 

I  bowed.  "A  strong  man,"  I  remarked. 
"And  a  romantic  one.  He  had  this  inten- 
tion from  the  first,  as  I  have  said,  but  he  wished 
to  make  himself  sure  of  her  heart.  He  knew 
how  his  advantages  counted ;  how  hard  it  is  for 
a  woman  to  disassociate  the  man  from  his  be- 
longings, and  having  a  spirit  of  some  daring, 
he  resolved  that  this  'pearl  of  the  west' — so  I 
have  heard  him  call  her — should  marry  the 
man  and  not  his  money." 

2S6 


"AN  ALL-CONQUERIXG  BEAUTY '' 

"Was  he  as  wealthy  then  as  now  V^ 
"Almost  Possibly  he  was  not  quite  such  a 
power  in  the  financial  world,  but  he  had  Home- 
wood  in  almost  as  beautiful  a  condition  as 
now,  though  the  new  house  was  not  put  up  till 
after  his  marriage.  He  courted  her — not  as 
the  landscape  painter  of  Tennysons  poem — 
but  as  a  rising  young  business  man  who  had 
made  his  way  sufficiently  to  give  her  a  good 
home.  This  home  he  did  not  have  to  describe, 
since  her  o^ti  imagination  immediately  pio 
tured  it  as  much  below  the  one  she  lived  in, 
as  he  was  years  younger  than  her  hard- 
worked  father.  Delighted  with  this  naivete, 
he  took  pains  not  to  disabuse  her  mind  of  the 
simple  prospects  with  which  she  was  evidently 
so  well  satisfied,  and  succeeded  in  marrying 
her  and  bringing  her  as  far  as  our  station  below 
there,  without  her  having  the  least  suspicion 
of  the  splendor  she  was  destined  for.  And 
now,  Mr.  Trevitt,  picture,  if  you  can,  the  scene 
of  that  first  aiTival.  I  have  heard  it  described 
by  him  and  I  have  heard  it  described  by  her. 
He  was  dressed  plainly;  so  was  she;  and  lest 
the  surprise  should  come  before  the  proper  mo- 
ment, he  had  brought  her  on  a  train  little  pat- 
227 


THE  MILLIOKAIEE  BABY 

fonized  bj  his  friends.  The  sumptuousness  of 
the  solitary  equipage  standing  at  the  depot  plat- 
form must,  in  consequence,  have  struck  her  all 
the  more  forcibly,  and  when  he  turned  and  asked 
her  if  she  did  not  admire  this  fine  turn-out,  you 
can  imagine  the  lovely  smile  with  which  she 
acknowledged  its  splendor  and  then  turned 
away  to  look  up  and  do\\TL  for  the  street-car 
she  expected  to  take  with  him  to  their  bridal 
home. 

^^He  says  that  he  caught  her  back  with  the  re- 
mark that  he  was  glad  she  liked  it  because 
it  was  hers  and  many  more  like  it.  But 
she  insists  that  he  did  not  say  a  word,  only 
smiled  in  a  way  to  make  her  see  for  whom  th.e 
carriage  door  was  being  held  open.  Such  was 
her  entrance  into  wealth  and  love  and  alas! 
into  trouble.  For  the  latter  followed  hard 
upon  the  two  first.  Mr.  Ocumpaugh's  mother, 
who  had  held  sway  at  Homewood  for  thirty 
years  or  more,  was  hard  as  the  nether  millstone. 
She  was  a  Rathbone  and  had  brought  both 
wealth  and  aristocratic  connections  into  the 
family.  She  had  no  sympathy  for  penniless 
beauties  (she  was  a  very  plain  woman  herself) 
and  made  tliose  first  few  years  of  her  daugh- 
228 


'^AN  ALL-COXQUEEIXG  BEAUTY  " 

ter-in-laVs  life  as  nearly  miserable  as  any 
woman's  can  be  who  adores  her  husband  I 
have  heard  that  it  was  a  common  experience 
for  this  sharp-tongued  old  lady  to  taunt  her 
with  the  fact  that  she  brought  nothing  into  the 
family  but  herself — ^not  even  a  towel;  and  when 
two  years  passed  and  no  child  came,  the  bit- 
ing criticisms  became  so  frequent  that  a  cloud 
fell  over  the  young  wife's  sensitive  beauty, 
which  no  after  happiness  has  ever  succeeded 
in  fully  dispelling.  ]VIatters  went  better  after 
Gwendolen  came,  but  in  reckoning  up  the  pos- 
sible defects  in  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's  character 
you  should  never  forget  the  t^vist  that  may 
have  been  given  to  it  by  that  mother-in-law.'' 

'^I  have  heard  of  Madam  Ocumpaugh,"  I 
remarked,  rising,  anxious  to  end  an  interview 
whose  purport  was  more  or  less  enigmatic  to 
me. 

"She  is  dead  now — ^happily.  A  woman  like 
that  is  accountable  for  much  more  than  she  her- 
self ever  realizes.  But  one  thing  she  never 
succeeded  in  doing :  she  never  shook  Mr.  Ocum- 
paugh's love  for  his  wife  or  hers  for  him. 
Whether  it  was  the  result  of  that  early  ro- 
mantic episode  of  which  I  have  spoken,  op 
229 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

whether  their  natures  are  peculiarly  congenial, 
the  bond  bet^veen  them  has  been  one  of  excep- 
tional strength  and  purity." 

^^It  will  be  their  comfort  now,"  I  remarked. 

Mrs.  Carew  smiled,  but  iu  a  dubious  way 
that  added  to  my  perplexity  and  made  me  ques- 
tion more  seriously  than  ever  just  what  her 
motive  had  been  in  subjecting  me  to  tliese  very 
intimate  reminiscences  of  one  I  was  about  to 
approach  on  an  errand  of  whose  purport  she 
could  have  only  a  general  idea. 

Had  she  read  my  inmost  soul  ?  Did  she 
wish  to  save  her  friend,  or  save  herself,  or 
even  to  save  me  from  the  result  of  a  blind  use 
of  such  tools  as  were  tlie  only  ones  afforded 
me?  Impossible  to  determine.  She  was  at 
this  present  moment,  as  she  had  always  been, 
in  fact,  an  unsolvable  problem  to  me,  and  it 
was  not  at  this  hurried  time  and  with  such  se- 
rious work  before  me  that  I  could  venture  to 
make  any  attempt  to  understand  her. 

"You  will  let  me  know  the  outcome  of  your 
talk  with  Mrs.  Ocimipaugh  ?"  she  cried,  as  I 
moved  to  the  front  of  the  porcL 

It  was  for  me  to  look  dubious  now.     I  could 
make  no  such  promise  as  that 
230 


"AN  ALL-COXQUERIXG  BEAUTY  ^^ 

^'I  will  let  jou  know  the  instant  there  is 
anj  good  news,"  I  assured  her. 

And  with  that  I  moved  off,  but  not  before 
hearing  the  peremptory  command  with  which 
she  entered  the  house: 

"I^ow,  Dinah,  quick !" 

Evidently,  her  preparations  for  departure 
were  to  be  pushed. 


231 


xvn 


IN  THE  QEEEN  BOUDOIB 


So  far  in  this  narrative  I  have  kept  from 
tlie  reader  nothing  but  an  old  experience 
of  which  I  was  now  to  make  use.  This  ex- 
perience involved  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,  and  was 
the  cause  of  the  confidence  which  I  had  felt 
from  the  first  in  my  ability  to  caiTy  this  search 
through  to  a  successful  termination.  I  be- 
lieved that  in  some  secret  but  as  yet  undiscov- 
ered way,  it  offered  a  key  to  this  tragedy.  And 
I  still  believed  this,  little  as  I  had  hitherto 
accomplished  and  blind  as  the  way  continued 
to  look  before  me. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  with  anything  but  a 
cheerful  heart  that  I  advanced  that  morning 
through  the  shrubbery  toward  the  Ocumpaugh 
mansion. 

I  dreaded  the  interview  I  had  determined  to 
seek.  I  was  young,  far  too  young,  to  grapple 
with  the  difiiculties  it  involved;  yet  T  saw  no 
way  of  avoiding  it,  or  of  saving  either  Mrs. 


IN  THE  GREEN  BOHDOIE 

Ocumpaugh  or  myself  from  the  suffering  it  in- 
volved. 

Mrs.  Carew  had  advised  that  I  should  first 
see  the  girl  called  Celia.  But  Mrs.  Carew 
knew  nothing  of  the  real  situation.  I  did  not 
wish  to  see  any  girl.  I  felt  that  no  such  in- 
termediary would  answer  in  a  case  like  this. 
Xor  did  I  choose  to  trust  Miss  Porter.  Yet 
to  Miss  Porter  alone  could  I  appeal. 

The  sight  of  a  doctor's  gig  standing  at  the 
side  door  gave  me  my  first  shock.  Mrs.  Ocum- 
paugh was  ill,  then,  really  ill.  Yet  if  I  came 
to  make  her  better?  I  stood  irresolute  till  I 
saw  the  doctor  come  out ;  then  I  walked  boldly 
up  and  asked  for  Miss  Porter. 

Just  what  Mrs.  Carew  had  advised  me  not 
to  do. 

Miss  Porter  came.  She  recognized  me,  but 
only  to  express  her  sorrow  that  Mrs.  Ocum- 
paugh was  totally  unfit  to  see  any  one  to-day. 

'^ot  if  he  brings  news?" 

"I  have  news,  but  of  a  delicate  natura  I 
should  like  the  privilege  of  imparting  the  same 
to  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  herself." 

"Impossible." 

233 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BAJBY 

"Excuse  me,  if  I  urge  it'' 

"She  can  not  see  you.  The  doctor  who  has 
just  gone  says  that  at  all  hazards  she  must  be 
kept  quiet  to-day.  Won't  Mr.  Atwater  do? 
Is  it — is  it  good  news  ?" 

"That,  Mrs.   Ocumpaugh  alone  can  aayc" 

"See  Mr.  Atwater;  I  mil  call  him." 

"I  have  nothing  to  say  to  /im." 

"But-" 

"Let  me  advise  you.  Leave  it  to  Mrs.  Ocum- 
paugh. Take  this  paper  up  to  her — it  is  only 
a  sketch — and  inform  her  that  the  person  who 
drew  it  has  something  of  importance  to  say 
either  to  her  or  to  Mr.  Atwater,  and  let  her  de- 
cide which  it  shall  be.  You  may,  if  you  wish, 
mention  my  name." 

"I  do  not  understand." 

*^ou  hold  my  credentials,"  I  said  and 
smiled. 

She  glanced  at  the  paper  I  had  placed  in  her 
hand.  It  was  a  folded  one,  fastened  some- 
thing like  an  envelope. 

"I  can  not  conceive, — "  she  began. 

I  did  not  scruple  to  interrupt  her. 

"Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  has  a  right  to  the  priv- 
ilege of  seeing  what  I  have  sketched  there," 
234 


m  THE  GREElSr  BOUDOIR 

I  said  with  what  impressiveness  I  could, 
though  my  heart  was  heavy  with  doubt.  "Will 
you  believe  that  what  I  ask  is  for  the  best  and 
take  this  envelope  to  her  ?  It  may  mean  the  ul- 
timate restoration  of  her  child." 

"This  paper?'' 

''Yes,  Miss  Porter." 

She  did  not  try  to  hide  her  incredulity. 

''I  do  not  see  how  a  picture — yet  you  seem 
very  much  in  earnest — and  1  know  she  has  con- 
fidence in  you,  she  and  Mr.  Ocumpaugh,  too. 
I  will  take  it  to  her  if  you  can  assure  me  that 
good  will  come  of  it  and  no  more  false  hopes 
to  destroy  the  little  courage  she  has  left" 

''I  can  not  promise  that,  I  believe  that  she 
will  vAsh  to  receive  me  and  hear  all  I  have  to 
say  after  seeing  what  that  envelope  contains. 
That  is  as  far  as  I  can  honestly  go." 

''It  does  not  satisfy  me.  If  it  were  not  for 
the  nearness  of  Mr.  Ocumpaugh's  return,  I 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  He  must 
hear  at  Sandy  Hook  that  some  definite  news 
has  been  received  of  his  child." 

"You  are  right,  Miss  Porter,  he  must" 

"He  idolized  Gwendolen.  He  is  a  man  of 
strong  feelings ;  vexj  passionate  and  much  given 
235 


THE  MILLIOXAIKE  BABY 

to  follow  the  impulse  of  the  moment  If  his 
suspense  is  not  ended  at  the  earliest  possible 
instant,  the  results  may  be  such  as  I  dare  not 
contemplate." 

"I  know  it;  that  is  why  I  have  pushed  mat- 
ters to  tliis  point  You  will  cany  that  up  to 
her?" 

"Yes;  and  if—" 

*'jN'o  ifs.  Lay  it  before  her  where  she  sits 
and  come  awaj.  But  not  beyond  call.  You 
are  a  good  woman — I  see  it  in  your  face — do 
not  watch  her  as  she  unfolds  this  paper.  Per- 
sons of  her  temperament  do  not  like  to  have 
their  emotions  observed,  and  this  ^vill  cause 
her  emotion.  That  can  not  be  helped,  Miss 
Porter.  Sincerely  and  honestly  I  tell  you  that 
it  is  impossible  for  her  best  friends  to  keep 
her  from  suffering  now;  they  can  only  strive 
to  keep  that  suffering  from  becoming  perma- 
nent" 

"It  is  a  hard  task  you  have  set  me,"  com- 
plained the  poor  woman;  %ut  I  will  do  wlmt 
I  can.  Anything  must  be  better  for  Mrs.  Ocum- 
paugh  than  the  suspense  she  is  now  laboring 
under." 

"Remember,"  I  enjoined,  with  the  full  force 
236 


m  THE  GEEEX  BOUDOIR 

of  mj  secret  anxiety,  "that  no  eye  but  hers 
must  fall  upon  this  dra^-ing.  Not  that  it 
would  convey  meaning  to  anybody  but  herself^ 
but  because  it  is  her  affair  and  her  afFair  only, 
and  you  are  the  woman  to  respect  another  per- 
son's affairs." 

She  gave  me  a  final  scrutinizing  look  and 
left  the  room. 

"God  grant  that  I  have  made  no  mistake!'* 
was  the  inward  prayer  with  which  I  saw  her 
depart. 

My  fervency  was  sincere.  I  was  myself 
frightened  at  what  I  had  done. 

And  what  had  I  done?  Sent  her  a  sketch 
dra^Ti  by  myself  of  Doctor  Pool  and  of  his 
office.  If  it  recalled  to  her,  as  I  felt  it  must, 
the  remembrance  of  a  certain  memorable  visit 
she  had  once  paid  there,  she  would  receive  me. 

When  Miss  Porter  reentered  some  fifteen 
minutes  later,  I  saw  that  my  hazardous  attempt 
liad  been  successful. 

"Come,''  said  she;  but  with  no  cheerful  alac- 
rity, rather  with  an  air  of  gloom. 

"Was — ^was  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  very  much 
disturbed  by  what  she  saw?'* 

"I  fear  so.      She  was  half-asleep  when   I 

237 


THE  MILLIONAIEE  BABY 

"went  in,  dreaming  as  it  seemed,  and  pleas- 
antly. It  was  cruel  to  disturb  her;  indeed  I 
had  not  the  heart,  so  I  just  laid  the  folded 
paper  near  her  hand  and  waited,  but  not  too 
near,  not  within  sight  of  her  face.  A  few 
minutes  later — interminable  minutes  to  me — 
I  heard  the  paper  rattle,  but  I  did  not  mova 
I  was  where  she  could  see  me,  so  she  knew 
that  she  was  not  alone  and  presently  I  caught 
the  sound  of  a  strange  noise  from  her  lips, 
then  a  low  cry,  then  the  quick  inquiry  in  sharp- 
er and  more  peremptory  tones  than  I  had  ever 
before  heard  from  her,  ^ Where  did  this  come 
from  ?  Who  has  dared  to  send  me  this  V  I 
advanced  quickly.  I  told  her  about  you  and 
your  desire  to  see  her;  how  you  had  asked  me 
to  bring  her  up  this  little  sketch  so  that  she 
would  know  that  you  had  real  business  with 
her;  that  I  regretted  troubling  her  when  she 
felt  so  weak,  but  that  you  promised  revela- 
tions or  some  such  thing — at  which  I  thought 
she  grew  very  pale.  Are  you  quite  convinced 
that  you  have  news  of  sufficient  importance  to 
warrant  the  expectations  you  have  raised  in 
herr 

"Let  me  see  her,"  I  prayed, 
238 


IN  THE  GREEN  BOUDOIR 

She  made  a  sign  and  we  both  left  the  room. 

Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  awaited  me  in  her  own 
boudoir  on  the  second  floor.  As  we  went  up 
the  main  staircase  I  was  afforded  short 
glimpses  of  room  after  room  of  varying  rich- 
ness and  beauty,  among  them  one  so  dainty 
and  delicate  in  its  coloring  that  I  presumed 
to  ask  if  it  were  that  of  the  missing  child. 

Miss  Porter's  look  as  she  shook  her  head 
roused  my  curiosity. 

^^I  should  be  glad  to  see  her  room,"  I  said. 

She  stopped,  seemed  to  consider  the  matr 
ter  for  a  moment,  then  advanced  quickly  and, 
beckoning  me  to  follow,  led  me  to  a  certain 
door  which  she  quietly  opened.  One  look,  and 
my  astonishment  became  apparent  The  room 
before  me,  while  large  and  sunny,  was  as  sim- 
ple, I  had  almost  sail  as  bare,  as  my  sister^s 
at  home.  No  luxurious  furnishings  here,  no 
draperies  of  silk  and  damask,  no  half-lights 
drawing  richness  from  stained  glass,  no  gleam 
of  silver  or  sparkle  of  glass  on  bedecked  dresser 
or  carved  mantel.  Not  even  the  tinted  muslins 
I  had  seen  in  some  nurseries;  but  a  plain  set 
of  furniture  on  a  plain  carpet  with  but  one 
object  of  real  adornment  within  the  four  walla. 
239 


THE  MILLIOXAIEE  BABY 

That  was  a  pictxire  of  the  Madonna  opposite 
the  bed,  and  that  was  beautiful  But  th.e 
frame  was  of  the  cheapest — a  simple  band  of 
oak. 

Catching  Miss  Porter's  eye  as  we  quietly 
withdrew,  I  ventured  to  ask  whose  taste  this 
was. 

The  answer  was  short  and  had  a  decided 
ring  of  disapproval  in  it 

"Her  mother's.  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  believes 
in  simple  surroundings  for  children." 

"Yet  she  dressed  Gwendolen  like  a  princess." 
"Yes,  for  the  world's  eje.     But  in  her  own 
room  she  wore  gingham  aprons  whicJi  effect- 
ually covered  up  her  ribbons  and  laces." 

The  motive  for  all  tMs  was  in  a  way  evi- 
dent to  me,  but  somehow  what  I  had  just  seen 
did  not  add  to  my  courage  for  the  coming  in- 
terview. 

We  stopped  at  the  remotest  door  of  this  long 
halL  As  Miss  Porter  opened  it  I  summoned 
up  all  my  nerve,  and  the  next  moment  found 
myself  standing  in  the  presence  of  the  imposing 
figure  of  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  drawn  up  in  the 
embrasure  of  a  large  window  overlooking  th.e 
Hudson.  It  was  the  same  window,  doubtless, 
340 


IN  THE  GREEN  BOUDOIR 

in  wkich  she  had  stx)od  for  t\vc  nights  and  a 
day  watching  for  some  sign  from  the  boats  en- 
gaged in  dragging  the  river-bed.  Her  back 
was  to  me  and  she  seemed  to  find  it  difficult 
to  break  away  from  her  fijxed  attitude;  for 
several  minutes  elapsed  before  she  turned  slowly 
about  and  showed  me  her  face. 

When  she  did,  I  stood  appalled.  Not  a  vesr 
tige  of  color  was  to  be  seen  on  cheek,  lip  or 
brow.  She  was  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh 
still,  but  the  heart  which  had  sent  the  hues 
of  life  to  her  features,  was  beating  slow — slow 
— and  the  effect  was  heartbreaking  to  one  who 
had  seen  her  in  her  prime  and  the  full  glory 
of  her  beauty  as  wife  and  mother. 

^Tardon,"  I  faltered  out,  bowing  my  head 
as  if  before  some  powerful  rebuke,  though  her 
lips  were  silent  and  her  eves  pleading  rather 
than  accusing.  Truly,  I  had  ventured  far  in 
daring  to  recall  to  this  woman  an  hour  which 
at  this  miserable  time  she  probably  would  give 
her  very  life  to  forget.  ^Tardon,"  I  repeated, 
with  even  a  more  humble  intonation  than  be- 
fore, for  she  did  not  speak  and  I  hardly  knew 
how  to  begin  the  conversation.  Still  she  said 
nothing,  and  at  last  I  found  myself  forced  to 
241 


THE  MILLIONAIKE  BABY 

break  the  unbearable  silence  by  some  definite 
remark. 

"I  have  presumed/^  I  therefore  continued, 
advancing  but  a  step  toward  her  who  made  no 
advance  at  all,  "to  send  you  a  hurried  sketch 
of  one  who  says  he  knows  you,  that  you  might 
be  sure  I  was  not  one  of  the  many  eager  but 
irresponsible  men  who  offer  help  in  your  great 
trouble  without  understanding  your  history  or 
that  of  the  little  one  to  whose  seemingly  unac- 
countable disappearance  all  are  seeking  a  clue." 

*^My  history!" 

The  words  seemed  forced  from  her,  but  no 
change  in  eye  or  look  accompanied  them;  nor 
could  I  catch  a  motion  of  her  lips  when  she 
presently  added  in  a  far-away  tone  inexpress- 
ibly affecting,  ^^Her  history!  Did  he  bid  you 
Bay  that?" 

"Doctor  Pool?  He  has  given  me  no  com- 
mands other  than  to  find  the  child.  I  am  not 
here  as  an  agent  of  his,  I  am  here  in  Mr. 
Ocumpaugh's  interest  and  your  own;  with 
some  knowledge — a  little  more  knowledge  than 
others  have  perhaps — to  aid  me  in  the  business 
of  recovering  this  child.  Madam,  the  police 
are  seeking  her  in  the  holes  and  slums  of  the 
242 


m  THE  GREEIT  BOUDOIR 

^reat  city  and  at  the  hands  of  desperate  ckar- 
acters  who  make  a  living  out  of  the  terrors  and 
griefs  of  the  rich.  But  this  is  not  where  I 
ghould  look  for  Gwendolen  Ocumpaugh.  I 
should  look  nearer,  just  as  you  have  looked 
nearer;  and  I  should  use  means  which  I  am 
sure  have  not  commended  themselves  to  the  po- 
lice. These  means  you  can  doubtless  put  in 
my  hands,  A  mother  knows  many  things  in 
connection  with  her  child  which  she  neither 
thinks  to  impart  nor  would,  under  any  ordi- 
nary circimistances,  give  up,  especially  to  a 
stranger.  I  am  not  a  stranger;  you  have  seen 
me  in  Mr.  Ocumpaugh's  confidence;  Avill  you 
then  pardon  me  if  I  ask  what  may  strike  you 
as  impertinent  questions,  but  which  may  lead 
to  the  discovery  of  the  motive  if  not  to  the 
method  of  the  little  one's  abduction?" 

"I  do  not  understand — "  She  was  trying 
to  shake  off  her  apathy.  "I  feel  confused, 
sick,  almost  like  one  dying.  How  can  I  help  ? 
Haven't  I  done  everytliing?  I  believe  that  she 
strayed  to  the  river  and  was  drowned.  I  still 
believe  her  dead.  Otherwise  we  should  have 
news — real  news — and  we  don't,  we  don't" 

The  intensity  with  which  she  uttered  the  last 


THE  MILLIONAIKE  BABY 

two  words  brought  a  line  of  red  into  her  gasping 
lips.  She  was  becoming  human,  and  for  a  min- 
ute I  could  not  help  drawing  a  comparison 
between  her  and  her  friend  Mrs.  Carew  as 
the  latter  had  just  appeared  to  me  in  her  little 
half-denuded  house  on  the  other  side  of  the 
hedge-row.  Both  beautiful,  but  owing  their 
charms  to  quite  different  sources,  I  surveyed 
this  woman,  white  against  the  pale  green  of  the 
,  curtain  before  which  she  stood,  and  impercep- 
tibly but  surely  the  glowing  attractions  of  the 
gay-hearted  widow  who  had  found  a  child  to 
love,  faded  before  the  cold  loveliness  of  this 
bereaved  mother,  wan  with  suffering  and  alive 
with  terrors  of  whose  depth  I  could  judge 
from  the  clutch  with  which  she  still  held  my 
little  sketch. 

Meanwhile  I  had  attempted  some  kind  oi 
answer  to  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's  heart-rending 
appeal. 

'^We  do  not  hear  because  she  was  not  taken 
from  you  simply  for  the  money  her  return 
would  bring.  Indeed,  after  hours  of  action 
and  considerable  thinking,  I  am  beginning  to 
doubt  if  she  was  taken  for  money  at  all.  Can 
you  not  think  of  some  other  motive?  Do  you 
244 


IN  THE  GEEEX  BOUDOIK 

not  know  of  some  one  who  wanted  the  child 
from — love,  let  us  saj?" 

*Tove?'' 

Did  her  lips  frame  it,  or  did  I  see  it  in  her 
ejes?  Certainly  I  heard  no  sound,  yet  I  was 
conscious  that  she  repeated  the  word  in  her 
mind,  if  not  aloud. 

"I  know  I  have  startled  you,"  I  pursued. 
"But,  pardon  me — I  can  not  help  my  presump- 
tion— I  must  he  personal — I  must  even  go  so 
far  as  to  probe  the  wound  I  have  made.  You 
have  a  claim  to  Gwendolen  not  to  be  doubted, 
not  to  be  gainsaid.  But  isn't  there  some  one 
else  who  is  conscious  of  possessing  certain 
claims  also?  I  do  not  allude  to  Mr.  Ocum- 
paugh." 

"You  mean  —  some  relative  —  aunt  —  cooi- 
sin — "  She  was  fully  human  now,  and  very 
keenly  alert.     "Mr.  Kathbone,  perhaps?" 

"IN'o,  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,  none  of  these." 
Then  as  the  paper  rattled  in  her  hand  and  I 
saw  her  eyes  fall  in  terror  on  it,  I  said  as 
calmly  and  respectfully  as  I  could:  "You  have 
a  secret,  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh ;  that  secret  I  share." 

The  paper  trembled  from  her  clasp  and  fell 
fluttering  downward.     I  pointed  at  it  and  wait- 
245 


od  Ull  our  •  *  *v  Uiai  1  iia^iit  girt 

jjQr  * — »  -  •♦•    »^  «•  l.w%4c  if  not 

frt>i:. 

"I  WA«  a  boT  in  Doctor  Pool*!  ocnplor  tom* 
five  jeari  ago,  and  one  dav 

I  pauM>d;  the  had  mads  mo  a  tupplioatin;^ 
goeturo. 

"Shall  I  not  go  no  r*  I  finallj  aakrd. 

*'Givo  mo  a  minulr/*  vaa  bar  low  cotrMtjr. 
*'0  God!  O  God!  that  I  should  haro  thought 
myself  tecurc  all  lhc«o  rears  ^^^  two  ia  the 
world  knowing  my  fatal  •»- 

"I  leanicd  it  br  aorideot,  i  ^rru  <.n,  wtjcn 
I  saw  her  cyo  turn  again  on  mine.  ''On  a  oertain 
night  BIX  Tcara  ago,  I  waa  in  tiie  ofioe  behind 
an  old  curuin — jou  rememher  the  curuin  hang 
ing  at  the  left  of  the  doctors  table  over  that 
break  in  the  book-ahclrea.  I  had  no  huatneas 
there.  I  had  been  me^ldling  with  thinga  which 
did  not  belong  to  me  and,  when  I  heard  the  doe- 
tor's  step  at  the  door,  waa  glad  to  shrink  into 
this  refuge  and  wait  for  an  opportunity  to  es- 
cape. It  did  not  come  very  ha  1 
one  patient,  then  another,  i -e  Uri 
yon ;  I  heard  your  name  and  caught  a  glii..>  -  :* 
your  faee  as  you  went  out  It  was  a  rery  inter 
246 


IN  THE  GREEN  BOUDOIR 

esting  storv  you  told  him — I  was  touched  by  it 
though  I  hardly  understood." 
^*0h!  oh!" 

She  was  swaying  from  side  to  side,  swaying 
so  heavily  that  I  instinctively  pushed  fonvard 
a  chair. 

*'Sit,"  I  prayed.  "You  are  not  strong  enough 
for  this  excitement" 

She  glancoil  at  me  viiguely,  shook  her  head, 
but  made  no  move  toward  accepting  the  prof- 
fered chair.  She  submitted,  however,  when  I 
continued  to  pre^  it  upon  her;  and  I  felt  less 
a  brute  and  hard-hearted  monster  when  I  saw 
her  sitting  with  folded  hands  before  ma 

*1  bring  tliis  up,"  said  I,  ''tliat  you  may  un- 
derstand what  I  mean  when  I  say  that  some 
one  else — another  woman,  in  fact,  may  feel 
her  claim  upon  this  child  greater  than  yours." 
''You  mean  the  real  mother.  Is  she  known? 
The  doctor  swore — " 

''I  do  not  know  tlie  real  motlier.  I  only 
know  that  you  are  not;  that  to  win  some  toler- 
ation from  your  mother-in-law,  U>  make  sure 
of  your  husband's  lasting  love,  you  won  the 
doctor  over  to  a  deception  which  secured  a 
seeming  heir  to  the  Ocumpaughs.  Whose 
247 


THE  MILLIO:NArRE  BABY 

cKild  was  given  you,  is  doubtless  known  to 
you—" 

"^0,  no." 

I  stared,  aghast. 

"What!     You  do  not  know?" 

"Xo,  I  did  not  wish  to.  'Nov  was  she  ever 
to  know  me  or  my  name." 

"Then  this  hope  has  also  failed.  I  thought 
that  in  this  mother,  we  might  find  the  child's 
abductor." 


248 


xvin 


I  had  studiously  avoided  looking  at  her  while 
these  last  few  words  passed  between  us,  but  as 
the  silence  which  followed  this  final  outburst 
continued,  I  felt  forced  to  glance  her  way  if 
only  to  see  what  my  next  move  should  be.  I 
found  her  gazing  straight  at  me  with  a  bright 
spot  on  either  cheek,  looking  as  if  seared  there 
by  a  red-hot  iron. 

"You  are  a  detective,"  she  said,  as  our  re- 
gards met.  "You  have  known  this  shameful 
irecret  always,  yet  have  met  my  husband  con- 
Btantly  and  have  never  told.'^ 

"lN"o,  I  saw  no  reason.'' 

"Did  you  never,  when  you  saw  how  com- 
pletely my  husband  was  deceived,  how  fortunes 
were  bequeathed  to  Gwendolen,  gifts  lavished 
on  her,  her  small  self  made  almost  an  idol  of, 
because  all  our  friends,  all  our  relatives  saw  in 
her  a  true  Ocumpaugh,  think  it  wicked  to  hold 
your  peace  and  let  this  all  go  on  as  if  she  were 
249 


THE  millio:n'aire  baby 

the  actual  offspring  of  my  husband  and  my- 
self?" 

"ITo;  I  may  have  wondered  at  your  happi- 
ness; I  may  have  thought  of  the  consequences 
if  ever  he  found  out,  but — " 

I  dared  not  go  on;  the  quick,  the  agonizing 
nerve  of  her  grief  and  suffering  had  been 
touched  and  I  myself  quailed  at  the  result 
Stammering  some  excuse,  I  waited  for  her 
soimdless  ang-uish  to  subside;  then,  when  I 
thought  she  could  listen,  completed  my  sentence 
by  saying: 

''I  did  not  allow  my  thoughts  to  stray  quite 
so  far,  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh.  Xot  till  my  know- 
ledge of  your  secret  promised  to  be  of  use 
did  I  let  it  rise  to  any  proportion  in  my  mind. 
I  had  too  much  sympathy  for  your  difficul- 
ties; I  have  to-day." 

This  hint  of  comfort,  perhaps  from  the  only 
source  which  could  afford  her  any,  seemed  to 
move  her. 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  are  my  friend?" 
she  cried.  "That  you  would  help  me,  if  any 
help  were  possible,  to  keep  my  secret  and — 
my  husband's  love  ?" 

I  did  not  know  how  to  dash  the  first  spark 
250 


"YOU  LOOK  AS  IF— AS  IF—" 

of  Lope  I  had  seen  in  her  from  the  beginning 
of  this  more  than  painful  interview.  To  avoid 
it,  I  temporized  a  trifle  and  answered  with 
ready  earnestness: 

"I  would  do  much,  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,  to 
make  the  consequences  of  your  act  as  ineffect- 
ive as  possible  and  still  be  true  to  the  inter- 
ests of  Mr.  Ocumpaugh.  If  the  child  can  be 
foimd — ^you  wish  that?     You  loved  her?" 

"0  yes,  I  loved  her."  There  was  no  mis- 
taking the  wistfulness  of  her  tone,  ^^oo  well, 
far  too  well ;  only  my  husband  more." 

"If  you  can  find  her — that  is  the  first  thing, 
isn't  it  ?" 

"Yes." 

It  was  a  faint  rejoinder.  I  looked  at  her 
again. 

''You  do  not  wish  her  found/'  I  suddenly 
declared. 

She  started,  rose  to  her  feet,  then  suddenly 
sat  again  as  if  she  felt  that  she  could  not  stand. 

"What  makes  you  say  that?  How  dare 
you?  how  can  you  say  that?  My  husband 
loves  her,  I  love  her — she  is  our  own  child,  if 
not  by  birth,  by  every  tie  which  endears  a  child 
to  a  parent  Has  that  wicked  man — " 
251 


THE  MILLIOXAIKE  BABY 

"Doctor  Pool!"  I  put  in,  for  she  stopped, 
gasping. 

"Yes;  Doctor  Pool,  whom  I  wish  to  God  I 
had  never  seen — has  he  told  joti  any  such  lies 
as  that  ?  the  man  who  swore — " 

I  put  out  my  hand  to  calm  her.  I  feared 
for  her  reason  if  not  for  her  life. 

"Be  careful,"  I  enjoined.  ".Your  walls  are 
thick  but  tones  like  yours  are  penetrating." 
Then  as  I  saw  she  would  be  answered,  I  re- 
plied to  the  question  still  alive  in  her  face: 
"Xo;  Doctor  Pool  has  not  talked  of  you.  I 
saw  it  in  your  o^vn  manner,  m-adam;  it  or 
something  else.  Perhaps  it  was  something 
else — another  secret  which  I  have  not  shared" 

^e  moistened  her  lips  and,  placing  her  two 
hands  on  the  knobs  of  the  chair  in  which  she 
sat,  leaned  passionately  forward.  Who  could 
say  she  was  cold  now?  Who  could  see  any- 
thing but  a  feeling  heart  in  this  woman,  beau- 
tiful beyond  all  precedent  in  her  passion  and 
her  woe? 

"It  is — it  was — a  secret.  I  have  to  confess 
to  the  abnormal.  The  child  did  not  love  me; 
has  never  loved  me.  Lavish  as  I  have  been 
in  my  affection  and   caresses,  she  has  never 

252 


"YOU  LOOK  AS  IF— AS  IF— '^ 

done  aught  but  endure  them.  Though  she  be> 
lieves  me  her  o^ti  motlier,  she  ha3  shrunk  from 
me  with  all  the  might  of  her  nature  from  the 
very  first.  It  was  God's  punishment  for  the 
lie  by  which  I  strove  to  make  my  hi^band  be- 
lieve himself  the  father  which  in  God's  provi- 
dence he  was  not.  I  have  borne  it ;  but  my  life 
has  been  a  living  hell.  It  was  that  you  saw  in 
my  face — nothing  else." 

I  was  bound  to  believe  her.  The  child  had 
made  her  suffer,  but  she  was  bent  upon  recov- 
ering her— of  course.  I  dared  not  contem- 
plate any  other  alternative.  Her  love  for  her 
husband  precluded  any  other  desire  on  her 
part.  And  so  I  admitted,  when  after  a  mo- 
mentary survey  of  the  task  yet  before  me,  1 
ventured  to  remark: 

"Then  we  find  ourselves  once  more  at  the 
point  from  which  we  started.  Where  shall 
^ve  look  for  his  child?  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh, 
perhaps  it  would  aid  us  in  deciding  this  ques- 
tion  if  you  told  me,  sincerely  told  me,  why 
you  had  such  strong  belief  in  Gwendolen's 
having  been  drowned  in  the  river.  You  did 
believe  this— I  saw  you  at  the  window.  You 
are  not  an  actress  like  your  friend— you  ex- 
253 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY, 

pected    to    see    her    body    drawn    from    those 

waters.  For  twenty-four  hours  you  expected 
it,  though  every  one  told  you  it  was  impossi- 
ble.    Why  V 

She  crept  a  step  nearer  to  me,  her  tones 
growing  low  and  husky. 

^'Don't  you  see  ?  I — I — thought  that  to  es- 
cape me,  she  might  have  leaped  into  the  water. 
She  was  capable  of  it  Gwendolen  had  a  strong 
nature.  The  struggle  between  duty  and  re- 
pulsion made  havoc  even  in  her  infantile 
breast  Besides,  we  had  had  a  scene  that 
morning — a  secret  scene  in  which  she  showed 
absolute  terror  of  me.  It  broke  my  heart,  and 
when  she  disappeared  in  that  mysterious  way — 
and — and — one  of  her  shoes  w^as  found  on  the 
slope,  what  was  I  to  think  but  that  she  had 
chosen  to  end  her  misery — this  child !  this  babe 
I  had  loved  as  my  own  flesh  and  blood ! — in  the 
river  where  she  had  been  forbidden  to  go?" 

^'Suicide  by  a  child  of  six!  You  gave  an- 
other reason  for  your  persistent  belief,  at  the 
time,  Mrs.   Ocumpaugh." 

"Was  I  to  give  this  one?" 

"ISTo;  no  one  could  expect  you  to  do  that, 
even  if  there  had  been  no  secret  to  preserve 
254 


'^YOU  LOOK  AS  IF— AS  IF—" 

and  the  ckild  had  been  your  ovm.  But  the 
child  did  not  go  to  the  river.  You  are  oon- 
vinced  of  that  now,  are  you  not?" 

''Yes." 

"Where  then  did  she  go  ?  Or  rather,  to 
what  place  was  she  taken?  Somewhere  near; 
somewhere  within  easy  reach,  for  the  alarm 
soon  rose  and  then  she  could  not  be  found. 
Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  an 
apparently  trivial  and  inconsequent  question. 
Was  Gwendolen  very  fond  of  sweets?" 

"Yes." 

She  was  sitting  upright  now,  staring  m.e  in 
the  face  in  unconcealed  astonishment  and  a  lit- 
tle fear. 

"What  sort  of  candy — pardon  me  if  I  seem 
impertinent — had  you  in  your  house  on  the 
Wednesday  the  child  disappeared  ?  Any  which 
she  could  have  got  at  or  the  nurse  given  her  ?" 

"There  were  the  confections  brought  by  the 
caterer;  none  other  that  I  know  of;  I  did 
not  indulge  her  much  in  sweets." 

"Was  there  anything  peculiar  about  these 
confections  either  in  taste  or  appearance  ?" 

"I  didn't  taste  them.  In  appearance  they 
were  mostly  round  and  red,  with  a  brandied, 
255 


THE  MILLIONAIEE  BABY 

cherry  inside.  Why,  sir,  why  do  you  ask? 
What  have  these  miserable  lumps  of  sugar  to 
do  with  Gwendolen?" 

''Madam,  do  you  recognize  this?" 

I  took  from  my  pocket  the  crushed  mass  of 
colored  sugar  and  fruit  I  had  picked  up  from 
tlie  musty  cushions  of  the  old  sofa  in  the 
walled-up  room  of  the  bungalow. 

She  took  it  and  looked  up,  staring. 

''It  is  one  of  them,"  she  cried.  "Where  did 
you  get  it?     You  look  as  if — as  if — " 

"I  had  come  upon  a  clue  to  Gwendolen? 
Madam,  I  believe  I  have.  This  candy  has 
been  held  in  a  hot  little  hand.  Miss  Graham 
or  one  of  the  girls  must  have  given  it  to  her 
as  she  ran  through  the  dining-room  or  across 
the  side  veranda  on  her  way  to  the  bungalow. 
She  did  not  eat  it  offhand;  she  evidently  fell 
asleep  before  eating  it^  but  she  clutched  it  very 
tight,  only  dropping  it,  I  judge,  when  her  mus- 
cles were  quite  relaxed  by  sleep;  and  then  not 
far;  the  folds  of  her  dress  caught  it,  for — " 

"What  are  you  telling  me  ?"     The  interrup- 
tion was  sudden,  imperative.      "I  saw  Gwen- 
dolen asleep;   she  held  a  string  in  her  hand 
but  no  candy,  and  if  she  did — " 
256 


^'YOU  LOOK  AS  IF— AS  IF—'' 

^'Did  you  examine  both  hands,  madam? 
Think!  Great  issues  hang  on  a  right  set- 
tlement of  this  fact  Can  jou  declare  that 
she  did  not  have  this  candy  in  one  of  her  little 
hands  V 

''Xo,  I  can  not  declare  that" 

"Then  I  shall  always  believe  she  did,  and 
this  same  sweetmeat,  this  morsel  from  the  table 
set  for  your  guests  on  the  afternoon  of  the 
sixte'jnth  of  this  month,  I  found  last  night 
in  'Jje  disused  portion  of  the  bungalow  walled 
up  hj  Mr.  Ocumpaugh's  father,  but  made  ac- 
cessible since  by  an  opening  let  into  the  floor 
from  the  cellar.  This  latter  I  was  enabled 
to  reach  by  means  of  a  trap-door  cx)ncealed 
under  the  rug  in  the  open  part  of  this  same 
building." 

'^I — I  am  all  confused.  Say  that  again," 
she  pleaded,  starting  once  more  to  her  feet, 
^ut  this  time  without  meeting  my  eyes.  "In 
ihe  disused  part  of  the  bungalow  ?  How  came 
fou  there?  !N'o  one  ever  goes  there — it  is  a 
forbidden  place." 

"The  child  has  been  there — and  lately." 

"Oh  I"  her  fingers  began  to  tremble  and 
twist  themselves  together.  "You  hav*e  some- 
257 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

thing  more  than  this  to  tell  me.  Gwendolen 
has  been  found  and — "  her  looks  became  un- 
certain and  wandered,  as  I  thought,  toward 
the  river. 

"She  has  not  been  found,  but  the  woman 
who  carried  her  into  that  place  will  soon  be 
discovered.'^ 

^'How?     WhyT 

I  had  risen  by  this  time  and  could  answer 
her  on   a  level  and  face   to  face. 

"Because  the  trail  of  her  steps  leads  straight 
along  the  cellar  floor.  We  have  but  to  meas- 
ure these  footprints.'' 

"And  what?— what?" 

"We  find  the  abductor." 

A  silence,  during  which  one  long  breath 
issued   from   her    lips. 

"Was  it  a  man's  or  woman's  steps  ?"  slie 
finally  asked. 

"A  woman's,  daintily  shod;  a  woman  of 
about  the  size  of — " 

"Who?  W^hy  do  you  play  with  my  an- 
guish ?" 

"Because  I  hate  to  mention  the  name  of  a 
friend." 

"Ah!     What  do  you  know  of  my  friends?" 

2m 


"YOtJ  LOOK  AS  IF— AS  IF— '^ 

'^iSTot  mucli.  I  happened  to  meet  one  of 
them,  and  as  she  is  a  very  fine  woman  with 
exquisitely  shod  feet,  I  naturally  think  of  her." 
''What  do  you  mean?''  Her  hand  was  on 
my  arm,  her  face  close  to  mine.  ''Speak! 
speak  I  the  name!'' 
''Mrs.   Carew." 

I  had  purposely  refrained  up  to  this  mo- 
ment from  bringing  this  lady,  even  by  a  hint, 
into  the  conversation.  I  did  it  now  under 
an  inner  protest  But  I  had  not  dared  to 
leave  it  out.  The  footprints  I  alluded  to 
were  staitlingly  like  those  left  by  her  in  other 
parts  of  the  cellar  floor;  besides,  I  felt  it  my 
duty  to  see  how  :\Irs.  Ocumpaugh  bore  this 
name,  notwithstanding  my  almost  completely 
restored  confidence  in  its  owner. 

She  did  not  bear  it  well.  She  flushed  and 
turned  quickly  from  my  side,  walking  away 
to  the  window,  where  she  again  took  up  her 
stand. 

''You  would  have  shown  better  taste  by  not 
following  your  first  impulse,"  she  remarked. 
"Mrs.  Careers  footsteps  in  that  old  cellar! 
You  presume,  sir,  and  make  me  lose  cjonfi- 
dence  in  your  judgment," 
259 


THE  MILLION" AIKE  BABY 

*'Xot  at  all.  Mrs.  Carew's  feet  have  been 
all  over  that  cellar  floor.  She  accompanied  me 
through  it  last  night,  at  the  time  I  found  this 
crushed  bonbon." 

I  could  see  that  Mrs.  Ocrompaugh  was 
amazed,  well-nigh  confounded,  but  her  man- 
ner altered  from  that  moment. 

"Tell  me  about  it." 

And  I  did.  I  related  the  doubts  I  Lad 
felt  concerning  the  completeness  of  tJie  police 
investigation  as  regarded  the  bungalow;  my 
visit  there  at  night  with  Mrs.  Carew,  and 
the  discoveries  we  had  made.  Then  I  alluded 
again  to  the  footprints  and  the  important  clue 
they   offered. 

"But  the  child?"  she  interrupted  "Where 
is  the  child?  If  taken  there,  why  wasn't  she 
found  there?  Don't  you  see  that  your  con- 
elusions  are  all  wild — incredible?  A  dream? 
An  impossibility  ?" 

"I  go  by  the  signs,"  I  replied.  "There 
seems  to  be  nothing  else  to  go  by." 

"And  you  want — you  intend,  to  measure 
those  steps?" 

"That  is  why  I  am  here,  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh. 
To  request  permission  to  continue  this  in- 
260 


i 


^^YOU  LOOK  AS  IF— AS  IF—" 

ves-tigation  and  to  ask  for  the  key  to  the 
bungalow.  ^Irs.  CareVs  is  no  longer  avail- 
able; or  rather,  I  should  prefer  to  proceed 
witJiout   it" 

With  sudden  impulse  she  advanced  rap- 
idly toward  me. 

''^\liat  is  Mrs.  Carew  doing  this  morning?" 
she  asked. 

''Preparing  for  departure.  She  is  quite 
resolved  to  sail  to-day.  Do  you  wish  to  see 
her  ?  Do  you  wish  her  confirmation  of  my 
story  ?  I  think  she  will  come,  if  you  send 
for  her.'" 

''There  is  no  need."  This  after  an  instant^s 
hesitation.  "I  have  perfect  confidence  in  Mrs. 
Carew;  and  in  you  too/'  she  added,  with  what 
she  meant  for  a  kind  look.  She  was  by  nature 
without  coquetry,  and  this  attempt  to  please, 
in  the  midst  of  an  overwhelming  distress  ab- 
sorbing all  her  faculties,  struck  me  as  the 
most  pitiful  effort  I  had  ever  seen.  My  feel- 
ing for  her  made  it  very  hard  for  me  to  pro- 
ceed. 

"Then  I  may  go  on  ?"  I  said. 

"Of  course,  of  course.  I  don't  know  where 
tiie  key  is;  I  shall  have  to  give  orders.  You 
261 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

will  wait  a  few  minutes,  somewhere  in  one 
of  the  adjoining  rooms,  while  I  look  up  Mr. 
Atwater  ?" 

"Certainly." 

She   was   trembling,    feverish,    impatient. 

"Shall  I  not  look  up  Mr.  Atwater  for  you  ?" 
I  asked. 

"IS'o.  I  am  feeUng  better.  I  can  go  my- 
seK." 

In  another  moment  she  had  left  the  room, 
having  forgotten  her  own.  suggestion  that  I 
should  await  her  return  in  some  adjoining 
apartment 


362 


XIX 

FEENZY 

rive    minutes— ten     minutes — elapsed     and 
I    became    greatly    impatient.      I    walked    the 
floor;     I    stared    from    the    vrindow;     I    did 
everything  I  could  think  of  to  pass  away  these 
unendurable  moments   of   suspense  with  cred- 
itable   self-possession.      But   I    failed   utterly. 
As   the   clock   ticked   off   the   quarter   hour, 
and  then  the  half,  I  grew  not  only  impatient 
but  seriously  alarmed,   and  flinging  down  the 
book  I  had  taken  up  as  a  last  resort,  stepped 
from  the  room,  in  the  hope  of  coming  across 
some  one   in  the  hall   whom   I   could  interro- 
gate. ^ 

But  the  house  seemed  strangely  quiet,  and 
when  I  had  walked  the  full  length  of  the  hall 
without  encountering  either  maid  or  mistress, 
I  summoned  up  courage  to  return  to  the  room 
I  had  left  and  ring  the  bell. 

Xo    answer,    though   I   waited   long   for   it 
Tliinking  that  I  had   not  pressed   the  but- 
263 


THE  MILLIONAIEE  BABY 

ton  hard  enough,  I  made  a  second  attempt,  but 
again  there  was  no  answer. 

Was   anything  amiss?     Had  she — 

My  thought  did  not  complete  itself.  In 
sudden  apprehension  of  I  knenjv  not  what,  I 
dashed  from  the  room  and  made  my  way  down 
stairs   without   further   ceremony. 

The  unnatural  stillness  which  had  attracted 
my  attention  above  was  repeated  on  the  floor 
below.  ^0  one  in  the  rooms,  no  one  in  the 
passages. 

Disturbed  as  I  had  not  been  yet  by  any- 
thing which  had  occurred  in  connection  ^\itli 
this  harrowing  affair,  I  leaped  to  the  nearest 
door  and   stepped  out  on  the  lawn. 

My  first  glance  was  toward  the  river.  All 
was  as  usual  there.  With  my  worst  fears 
dispelled,  but  still  a  prey  to  doubts  for  which 
as  yet  I  had  no  name,  I  moved  toward  the 
kitchen  windows,  expecting  of  course  to  find 
some  one  there  who  would  explain  the  situa- 
tion to  me.  But  not  a  head  appeared  at  my 
call.      The  kitchen,   too,   was   deserted. 

^'This  is  not  chance,"  I  involuntarily  ex- 
claimed, and  was  turning  toward  the  stables 
when  I  perceived  a  child,  the  son  of  one  of 
264 


FREXZY 

the  gardeners,  crossing  the  lawn  at  a  ran, 
and  hailing  him,  asked  where  ever)'bodj  had 
gone  that  the  house  seemed  deserted. 

He  looked  back  but  kept  on  running,  shout- 
ing as  he  did  so: 

^^I  guess  they're  all  down  at  the  bungalow! 
I'm  going  there.  ]^Ien  are  digging  up  the 
cellar.  Mrs.  Ocimipaugh  says  she's  afraid  Miss 
Gwendolen's  body  is  buried   there." 

Aghast    and    perhaps    a     trifle    conscience- 
stricken,  I    stood    stock-still    in  the  sunshine. 
So  this  was  what  I  had  done !     Driven  her  to 
frenzy;  roused  her  imagination  to  such  a  point 
that    she    saw    her    darling — always  her   dar- 
ling   even    if   another    woman's    child — lying 
under  the  clay  across  which  I  had  attempted 
simply   to   prove   that   she   had   been   carried. 
Or— no!      I  would    not    think  that!     A    de- 
tective   of    my   experience   outwitted   by   this 
stricken,  half-dead  woman  whom  I  had  trem- 
bled to  see  try  to  stand  upon  her  feet?     Im- 
possible!    Yet  the  thought  brought  the  blood 
to  my  cheek. 

Digging    up    the    bungalow    cellar!       That 
meant    destroying    those    footprints    before    I 
had  secured  a  single  impression  of  the  same. 
265 


The  million aike  baby 

I  should  have  roused  her  curiosity  only,   not 
her   terror. 

ISTow  all  might  be  lost  unless  I  could  ar- 
rive in  time  to — do  what?  Order  tbe  work 
stopped?  With  what  face  could  I  do  that 
with  her  standing  by  in  all  the  authority  of 
motherhood  —  frenzied  motherhood — seeking 
the  possible  body  of  her  child !  My  affair 
certainly  looked  dubious.  Yet  I  started  for 
the  bungalow  like  the  rest,  and  on  a  run,  too. 
Perhaps  Providence  would  favor  me  and  some 
expedient  suggest  itself  by  which  I  might  still 
save  the  clue  upon  which  so  many  hopes  hung. 

The  excitement  which  had  now  dra^vn  every 
person  on  the  place  in  the  one  direction,  was 
at  its  height  as  I  burst  through  the  thicket 
into  the  path  running  immediately  about  the 
bungalow.  Those  who  could  get  in  at  the 
door  had  done  so,  filling  the  room  whence 
Gwendolen  had  disappeared,  with  awe-struck 
men  and  chattering  women.  Some  had  been 
allowed  to  descend  through  the  yawning  trap- 
door, down  which  all  were  endeavoring  to 
peer,  and,  fortified  by  this  fact,  I  armed  my- 
self with  an  appearance  of  authority  despite 
my  sense  of  presumption,  and  pushed  and 
266 


I 


FREXZY 

worked  my  own  way  to  these  steps,  saying 
that  I  had  come  to  aid  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh, 
whose  attention  I  declared  I  Lad  been  the 
first  to  direct  to  this  place. 

Struck  with  my  manner  if  not  with  my 
argument,  they  yielded  to  my  importimity  and 
allowed  nue  to  pass  do^m.  The  stroke  of  the 
spade  and  the  harsh  voice  of  the  man  direct- 
ing tlie  work  greeted  my  disquieted  ears. 
With  a  bound  I  cleared  the  last  half-dozen 
steps  and,  alighting  on  the  cellar  bottom,  was 
soon  able,  in  spite  of  the  semi-darkness,  to 
look  about  me  and  get  some  notion  of  the 
scene. 

A  dozen  men  were  working — the  full  corps 
of  gardeners  without  doubt — and  a  single 
glance  sufficed  to  show  me  that  such  of  the 
surface  as  had  not  been  upturned  by  their  spades 
had  been  harried  by  their  footsteps.  Useless 
now  to  promulgate  my  carefully  formed  theory, 
with  any  hope  of  proof  to  substantiate 
it  The  crushed  bonbon,  the  piled-up  boxe3 
and  the  freshly  sawed  hole  were  enough 
without  doubt  to  establish  the  fact  that  the 
child  had  been  carried  into  the  walled-up  room 
above,   but  the  link  which  would  have  fixed 

267 


THE  MILLIOXAIRE  BABY 

the  identity  of  the  pei^on  so  carrying  her  was 
gone  from  my  chain  of  evidence  for  ever.  She 
who  should  have  had  the  greatest  interest  in 
establishing  this  evidence  was  leaning  on  the 
arm  of  Miss  Porter  and  directing,  with  wa- 
vering finger  and  a  wild  air,  the  movements 
of  the  men^  who,  in  a  frenzy  caught  from 
her  own,  dug  here  and  dug  there  as  that  in- 
exorable finger  pointed. 

Sobs  choked  Miss  Porter;  but  Mrs.  Ocum- 
paugh  was  beyond  all  such  signs  of  grief. 
Her  eyes  moved;  her  breast  heaved;  now  and 
then  a  confused  command  left  her  lips,  but 
that  was  all.  Yet  to  me  she  was  absolutelv 
terrifying,  and  it  took  all  the  courage  left 
from  my  disappointment  for  me  to  move  so 
as  to  attract  her  attention.  When  I  saw  that 
I  had  succeeded  in  doing  this,  I  regretted  the 
impulse  which  had  led  me  to  break  into 
her  mood.  The  change  which  my  sudden  ap- 
pearance caused  in  her  was  too  abrupt;  too 
startling.  I  feared  the  effects,  and  put  up  my 
hand  in  silent  deprecation  as  her  lips  essayed 
to  move  in  what  might  be  some  very  disturb- 
ing command.  If  she  heeded  it  I  can  not 
say.  What  she  said  was  this: 
268 


PREK2Y 

"It's  the  child— I'm  looking  for  the  child! 
She  was  brought  here.  You  proved  that  she 
was  brought  here.  Then  why  don't  we  find 
her,  or — or  her  little  innocent  body?" 

I  did  not  attempt  an  answer;  I  dared  not — 
I  merely  turned  away  into  a  corner,  where 
I  should  be  out  of  the  way  of  the  men.  A 
thought  was  rising  in  my  mind;  a  thought; 
which  might  have  led  to  some  definite  action 
if  her  voice  had  not  risen  shrilly  and  with  a 
despairing  utterance  in  these  words: 

"Useless!  It  is  not  here  she  will  be  found. 
I  was  mad  to  think  it  Pull  up  your  spades 
and  go." 

A  murmur  of  relief  from  one  end  of  the 
cellar  to  the  other,  and  every  spade  was  drawn 
out  of  the  ground. 

"I  could  have  told  you,"  ventured  one  more 
hardy  than  the  rest,  "that  there  was  no  use 
disturbing  this  old  clay  for  any  such  purpose. 
Any  one  could  see  that  no  spade  has  been 
at  work  here  before  in  years." 

"I  said  that  I  was  mad,"  she  repeated,  and 
waved  the  men  away. 

Slowly  they  retreated  with  clattering  spades 
and  a  heavy  tread.  The  murmur  which 
269 


THE  millio:n"aire  baby 

greeted  them  above  slowly  died  out,  and  tlie 
bungalow  was  deserted  by  all  but  our  three 
selves.  When  quite  sure  of  this,  I  turned, 
and  Miss  Porter's  eyes  met  mine  with  a  re- 
proachful glance  easy  enough  for  me  to  un- 
derstand. 

''I  will  go,  too,''  whispered  Mrs.  Ocum- 
paugh.  ^'Oh !  this  has  been  like  losing  my 
darling  for  the  second  time !" 

Real  grief  is  unmistakable.  Recognizing 
the  heartfelt  tone  in  which  these  words  were 
uttered,  I  recurred  to  the  idea  of  frenzy  with 
all  the  sympathy  her  situation  called  for.  Yet 
I  felt  that  I  could  not  let  her  leave  before 
we  had  come  to  some  understanding.  But  how 
express  myself?  How  say  here  and  now  in 
the  presence  of  a  s^nnpathetic  but  unenlightened 
third  party  what  it  would  certainly  be  dif- 
ficult enough  for  me  to  utter  to  herself  in  the 
privacy  of  that  secluded  apartment  in  which 
we  had  met  and  talked  before  our  confidence 
was  broken  into  by  this  impetuous  act  of  hers. 

ISTot  seeing  at  the  moment  any  natural  way 
out  of  my  difficulties,  I  stood  in  painful  con- 
fusion, conscious  of  Miss  Porter's  eyes  and 
also  conscious  that  unless  some  miracle  came 
270 


I 


FREXZY 

to  mj  assistance  I  must  hencefortii  play  but 
a  sorry  figure  in  this  affair,  ^vhen  my  eyes, 
which  had  fallen  to  the  ground,  chanced  upon 
a  morsel  of  paper  so  insignificant  in  size  and 
of  such  doubtful  appearance  that  the  two  ladie: 
must  have  wondered  to  see  me  stoop  and  with 
ill-concealed  avidity  pick  it  up  and  place  it 
in  my  pocket. 

Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,  whose  false  strength  was 
fast  leaving  her,  now  muttered  some  words 
which  were  quite  unintelligible  to  me,  though 
they  caused  Miss  Porter  to  make  me  a  motion 
very  expressive  of  a  dismissal.  I  did  not  ac- 
cept it  as  such,  however,  without  making  one 
effort  to  regain  my  advantage.  At  the  foot  of 
the  steps  I  paused  and  glanced  back  at  Mrs. 
Ocumpaugh.  She  was  still  looking  my  way, 
but  her  chin  had  fallen  on  her  breast-,  and 
she  seemed  to  sustain  herself  erect  only  by 
a  powerful  effort  Again  her  pitiable  and 
humiliating  position  appealed  to  me,  and  it 
was  with  some  indication  of  feeling  that  I 
finally  said: 

'^Am  I  not  to  have  an  opportimity  of  fin- 
ishing the  conversation  so  unhappily  inter- 
rupted, Mrs.  Ocumpaugh?  I  am  not  satis- 
271 


XX 

"what  do  tou  know?" 

I  was  glad  of  that  half-hour.  I,  too,  wanted 
a  free  moment  in  which  to  think  and  exam- 
ine  the  small  scrap  of  paper  I  had  picked  up 
from  this  cellar  floor.  In  the  casual  glance 
I  had  given  it,  it  had  seemed  to  offer  me  a 
fresh  clue,  quite  capable  of  replacing  the  old 
one ;  and  I  did  not  change  mj  mind  on  a  second 
examination;  the  shape,  the  hue,  the  few 
words  written  on  it,  even  the  musty  smell 
pervading  it,  all  going  to  prove  it  to  be  the 
one  possible  link  which  could  reunite  the  chain 
whose  continuity  I  had  believed  to  be  gone 
for  ever. 

Eejoicing  in  my  good  luck,  yet  conscious 
of  still  moving  in  very  troubled  waters,  I  cast 
a  glance  in  the  direction  of  Mrs.  Carew's 
house,  from  the  door  of  the  bungalow  whence 
I  had  seen  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  depart,  and  asked 
myself  why  Mrs.  Carew,  of  all  persons  in  the 
vicinity,  had  been  the  only  one  to  hang  back 

274 


"WHAT  DO  YOU  KNOy^V' 

from  this  scene  of  excitement.  It  was  not 
like  her  to  hide  herself  at  such  a  crisis  (how 
invariably  she  had  followed  me  in  each  and 
every  visit  I  had  paid  here!),  and  though  I 
remembered  all  her  reasons  for  pre-occupation, 
her  absence  under  the  present  conditions  bore  an 
aspect  of  guilt  which  sent  my  mind  working 
in  a  direction  which  was  not  entirely  new  to 
me,  but  which  I  had  not  as  yet  resolutely  faced. 

Guilt !  The  word  recalled  that  other  and 
similar  one  uttered  by  Mr.  Rathbone  in  that 
adventure  which  had  impressed  me  as  so  un- 
real, and  still  held  its  place  in  my  mind  as 
something  I  had  dreamed. 

He  was  looking  up  when  he  said  it,  up  the 
hill,  up  toward  Mrs.  Carew's  house.  He  had 
struck  his  own  breast,  but  he  had  looked  up, 
not  down;  and  though  I  had  naturally  asso- 
ciated the  word  he  had  used  with  himself — and 
Miss  Graham,  with  a  womanly  intuition,  had 
supplied  me  with  an  explanation  of  the  same 
which  was  neither  far-fetched  nor  unnatural, 
yet  all  through  this  day  of  startling  vicissi- 
tudes and  unimaginable  interviews,  faint 
doubts,  bidden  and  unbidden,  had  visited  my 
mind,  which  at  this  moment  culminated  in 
276 


XX 

"what  do  you  know?" 

I  was  glad  of  that  half-hour.  I,  too,  wanted 
a  free  moment  in  which  to  think  and  exam- 
ine the  small  scrap  of  paper  I  had  picked  up 
from  this  cellar  floor.  In  the  casual  glance 
I  had  given  it,  it  had  seemed  to  offer  me  a 
fresh  clue,  quite  capable  of  replacing  the  old 
one ;  and  I  did  not  change  my  mind  on  a  second 
examination;  the  shape,  the  hue,  the  few 
words  written  on  it,  even  the  musty  smell 
pervading  it,  all  going  to  prove  it  to  be  the 
one  possible  link  which  could  reunite  the  chain 
whose  continuity  I  had  believed  to  be  gone 
for  ever. 

Rejoicing  in  my  good  luck,  yet  conscious 
of  still  moving  in  very  troubled  waters,  I  cast 
a  glance  in  the  direction  of  Mrs.  Carew's 
house,  from  the  door  of  the  bungalow  whence 
I  had  seen  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  depart,  and  asked 
myself  why  Mrs.  Carew,  of  all  persons  in  the 
vicinity,  had  been  the  only  one  to  hang  back 
274 


"WHAT  DO  YOU  KNO^WV' 

from  this  scene  of  excitement  It  was  not 
like  her  to  hide  herself  at  such  a  crisis  (how 
invariably  she  had  followed  me  in  each  and 
every  visit  I  had  paid  here!),  and  though  I 
remembered  all  her  reasons  for  pre-occupation, 
her  absence  under  the  present  conditions  bore  an 
aspect  of  guilt  which  sent  my  mind  working 
in  a  direction  which  was  not  entirely  new  to 
me,  but  which  I  had  not  as  yet  resolutely  faced. 

Guilt!  The  word  recalled  that  other  and 
similar  one  uttered  by  Mr.  Rathbone  in  that 
adventure  which  had  impressed  me  as  so  un- 
real, and  still  held  its  place  in  my  mind  as 
something  I  had  dreamed. 

He  was  looking  up  when  he  said  it,  up  the 
hill,  up  toward  Mrs.  Carew's  house.  He  had 
struck  his  own  breast,  but  he  had  looked  up, 
not  down;  and  though  I  had  naturally  asso- 
ciated the  word  he  had  used  with  himself — and 
Miss  Graham,  with  a  womanly  intuition,  had 
supplied  me  with  an  explanation  of  the  same 
which  was  neither  far-fetched  nor  unnatural, 
yet  all  through  this  day  of  startling  vicissi- 
tudes and  unimaginable  interviews,  faint 
doubts,  bidden  and  unbidden,  had  visited  my 
mind,  which  at  this  moment  culminated  in 
276 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

what  I  might  call  the  irresistible  question  as 
to  whether  he  might  not  have  had  in  mind 
some  one  nearer  and  dearer  than  himself  when 
he  uttered  that  accusing  word 

Her  position,  as  I  saw  it  now,  did  not  make 
this  supposition  too  monstrous  for  belief;  that 
is,  if  she  secretly  loved  this  man  who  did  not 
dare,  or  was  too  burdened  with  responsibility, 
to  woo  her.  And  who  can  penetrate  a  woman^s 
mind  ?  To  give  him — possibly  without  his 
knowledge — what  every  one  who  knew  him  de- 
clared him  to  stand  in  special  need  of — money 
and  relief  from  too  exacting  work — might  have 
seemed  motive  enough  to  one  of  her  warm  and 
impulsive  temperament,  for  eliminating  the 
child  she  cared  for,  but  not  as  she  cared  for 
him.  It  was  hard  to  think  it;  it  would  be 
harder  yet  to  act  upon  it;  but  the  longer  I 
stood  there  brooding,  the  more  I  felt  my 
conviction  grow  that  from  her  and  from  her 
alone,  we  should  yet  obtain  definite  traces  of 
the  missing  child,  if  only  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh 
would  uphold  me  in  the  attempt. 

But  would  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  do  this?  I 
own  that  I  had  my  doubts.  Some  hidden 
cause  or  instinct  which  I  had  not  been  able 
276 


"WHAT  DO  YOU  KNOW  ?" 

to  reach,  though  I  had  plunged  deep  into  the 
most  galling  secrets  of  her  life,  seemed  to  stand 
in  the  way  of  her  full  acceptance  of  the  in- 
jury I  believed  her  to  have  received  from  Mrs. 
Carew;  or  rather,  in  the  way  of  her  public 
acknowledgment  of  it.  Though  she  would 
fain  have  this  upturning  of  the  bungalow  cel- 
lar pass  for  an  act  of  frenzy,  I  could  not 
quite  bring  myself  to  look  upon  it  as  such 
since  taking  a  final  observation  of  its  condition- 
Though  her  professed  purpose  had  been 
to  seek  the  body  of  her  child,  the  spades  had 
not  gone  deeper  than  their  length.  It  had 
been  harrowing,  not  digging,  she  had  ordered, 
and  harrowing  meant  nothing  more  than  an 
obliteration  of  the  footprints  which  I  had 
menaced  her  with  comparing  mth  those  of 
Mrs.  Carew.  Why  this  show  of  consideration 
to  one  she  might  call  friend,  but  who  could 
hold  no  comparison  in  her  mind  with  the 
safety  or  recovery  of  the  child  which,  if  not 
hers,  was  the  beloved  object  of  her  husband's 
heart  and  only  too  deeply  cherished  by  her- 
self? Did  she  fear  her  charming  neighbor? 
Was  the  bond  between  them  founded  on  some- 
ihing    besides  love^    and    did    she    apprehend 

277 


THE  MILLIOIS^AIRE  BABY 

that  a  discovery  of  Mrs.  Carew's  connection 
witii  Gwendolen's  disappearance  would  only 
precipitate  her  o^n  disgrace  and  open  up  to 
public  recognition  the  false  relationship  she 
held  toward  the  little  heiress  ?  Hard  questions 
these,  but  ones  which  must  soon  be  faced  and 
answered;  for  wretched  as  was  Mrs.  Ocum- 
paugh's  position  and  truly  as  I  sympathized 
with  her  misery,  I  was  none  the  less  resolved 
to  force  such  acknowledgments  from  her  as 
would  allow  me  to  approach  Mrs.  Carew  with 
a  definite  accusation  such  as  even  that  daring 
spirit  could  not  withstand. 

Thus  resolved,  and  resisting  all  temptation 
to  hazard  an  interview  with  the  latter  lady 
before  I  had  seen  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  again,  I 
made  my  way  up  slowly  through  the  grounds 
and  entered  by  the  side  door  just  as  my  watch 
told  me  that  the  half -hour  of  my  waiting  was 
over. 

Miss  Porter  was  in  the  upper  ball,  but 
turned  aside  at  my  approach  with  a  mean- 
ing gesture  in  the  direction  of  the  boudoir. 
I  thought  that  her  eyes  looked  red;  certainly 
she  was  trembling  very  much;  and  with  this 
poor  preparation  for  an  interview  before  which 
278 


"WHAT  DO  YOU  KXOW  r 

the  strongest  and  most  experienced  man  might 
quail,  I  advanced  for  the  second  time  that 
morning  to  the  door  behind  which  the  dis- 
tracted mother  awaited  me. 

If  I  knocked  I  do  not  remember  it  I 
rather  think  she  opened  the  door  for  me  her- 
self upon  hearing  mj  step  in  the  hall.  At  all 
events  we  were  soon  standing  again  faoe  to 
face,  and  the  battle  of  our  two  wills — for  it 
would  be  nothing  less  now — had  begun. 

She  was  the  first  to  speak.  Braving  my 
inquiring  look  with  eyes  in  whose  depths  de- 
termination struggled  with  growing  despair, 
she  asked  me  peremptorily,   almost  mldly: 

"Have  you  told  any  one?  Do  you  mean 
to  publish  my  shame  to  the  world?  I  see 
decision  in  your  face.  Does  it  mean  that  ?  Tell 
me !    Does  it  mean  that  V^ 

"No,  madam;  far  be  it  from  me  to  harbor 
such  an  intention  unless  driven  to  it  by  the 
greatest  necessity.  Your  secret  is  your  own; 
my  only  reason  for  betraying  my  knowledge 
of  it  was  the  hope  I  cherished  of  its  affording 
us  some  clue  to  the  identity  of  Gwendolen's 
abductor.  It  has  not  done  so  yet,  may  never 
do  so;  then  let  us  leave  that  topic  and  return 
279 


THE  millio:n^aire  baey 

to  the  clue  offered  by  the  carrying  of  that 
child  into  the  long-closed  room  back  of  the 
bungalow.  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,  intentionally  or 
unintentionally,  the  proof  upon  which  I  relied 
for  settling  the  identity  of  the  person  so  car- 
rying her  has  been  destroyed." 

With  a  flush  which  her  seemingly  bloodless 
condition  made  perfectly  startling,  she  drew 
back,  breaking  into  wild  disclaimers: 

"I  know — I  fear — I  was  too  wild — too 
eager.  I  thought  only  of  what  might  lie  un- 
der that  floor. '^ 

^'In  a  half-foot  of  earth,  madam?  The 
spades  did  not  enter  any  deeper." 

With  a  sudden  access  of  courage,  bom  pos- 
sibly of  her  despair,  she  sought  neither  to  at- 
tempt  denial   nor  palliate  the  fact 

^'And  if  this  was  my  intention — though  I 
don't  acknowledge  it — you  must  recognize  my 
reason.  I  do  not  believe — you  can  not  make  me 
believe — that  Gwendolen  was  carried  into  that 
room  by  Mrs.  Carew.  But  I  could  see  that  you 
believed  it,  and  to  save  her  the  shame  of  such 
an  accusation  and  all  that  miglit  follow  from  it, 
I — oh,  Mr.  Trevitt,  you  do  not  think  this  pos- 
sible! Do  you  know  so  little  of  the  impulses 
280 


*^WHAT  DO  YOU  KlS^OWr* 

of  a  mind,  bewildered  as  mine  has  been  by 
intolerable   suffering  ?" 

*'I  can  understand  madness,  and  I  ^m  will- 
ing to  think  that  you  were  mad  just  then — 
especially  as  no  harm  has  been  done  and  I 
can  still  accuse  Mrs.  Carew  of  a  visit  to  that 
room,  with  the  proof  in  my  hand.'^ 

"What  do  you  mean?''  The  steady  voice 
was  faltering,  but  I  could  not  say  with  what 
emotion — hope  for  herself — doubt  of  me — fear 
for  her  friend ;  it  might  have  been  any  of  these ; 
it  might  have  been  all.  "Was  there  a  foot- 
print left,  then  ?  You  say  proof.  Do  you 
mean  proof  ?  A  detective  does  not  use  that 
word  lightly." 

"You  may  be  sure  that  I  would  not,"  I 
returned.  Then  in  answer  to  the  appeal  of 
her  whole  attitude  and  expression :  "^N'o,  there 
were  no  footprints  left;  but  I  came  upon  some- 
thing else  which  I  have  sufficient  temerity  to 
believe  will  answer  the  same  purpose.  Re- 
member that  my  object  is  first  to  convince 
you  and  afterward  Mrs.  Carew,  that  it  will 
be  useless  for  her  to  deny  that  she  has  been 
in  that  room.  Once  that  is  understood,  the 
rest  will  come  easy;  for  we  know  the  child 
281 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY, 

was  there,  and  it  is  not  a  place  she  could  have 
found  alone." 

^The  proof  !'^  She  had  no  strength  for 
more  than  that  "The  proof !  Mr.  Trevitt,  the 
proof!" 

I  put  my  hand  in  my  pocket,  then  drew  it 
out  again  empty,  making  haste,  however,  to 
say: 

"Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,  I  do  not  want  to  dis- 
tress you,  but  I  must  ask  you  a  few  questions 
first  Do  you  know  the  secret  of  that  strange- 
ly divided  room?" 

"Only  in  a  general  way.  Mr.  Ocumpaugh 
has  never  told  me." 

"You  have  not  seen  the  written  account  of 
it?" 

"1^0." 

"IsTor  given  into  Mrs.  Carew's  hand  such  an 
account  ?" 

"No." 

Mrs.  CareVs  duplicity  was  assuming  defi- 
nite proportions. 

"Yet  there  is  such  an  account  and  I  have 
listened  to  a  reading  of  it" 

"You  ?" 

"Yes,  madam.     Mrs.  Carew  read  it  to  me 

282 


"WHAT  DO  YOU  KNOW  V 

last  night  in  her  o^vn  house.  She  told  me 
it  came  to  her  from  your  hands.  You  see 
she  is  not  always  particular  in  her  state- 
ments." 

A  lift  of  the  hand,  whether  in  deprecation 
or  appeal  I  could  not  say,  was  all  the  answer 
this  received.  I  saw  that  I  must  speak  with 
the  utmost  directness. 

"This  account  was  in  the  shape  of  a  letter 
on  several  sheets  of  paper.  These  sheets  were 
very  old,  and  were  torn  as  well  as  discolored- 
I  had  them  in  my  hand  and  noticed  that  a 
piece  was  lacking  from  one  of  them.  Mrs. 
Ocumpaugh,  are  you  ready  to  repeat  that  Mrs. 
Carew  did  not  receive  this  old  letter  from 
you  or  obtain  it  in  any  way  you  know  of  from 
the  house  Ave  are  now  in?" 

''I  had  rather  not  be  forced  to  contradict 
Mrs.  Carew,"  was  the  low  reply;  "but  in  jusr 
tice  to  you  I  must  acknowledge  that  I  hear 
of  this  letter  for  the  first  time.  God  grant- 
but  what  can  any  old  letter  have  to  do  with 
the  agonizing  question  before  us?  I  am  not 
strong,  Mr.  Trevitt— I  am  suffering— do  not 
confuse  and  burden  me,  I  pray — " 

"Pardon,  I  am  not  saying  one  imnecessary 

283 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

word.  These  old  sheets — a  secret  from  the 
family — did  not  come  from  this  house. 
"Whence,  then,  did  they  come  into  Mrs.  Carew^s 
possession?  I  see  you  have  forestalled  my 
answer;  and  if  you  will  now  glance  at  this 
end  of  paper,  picked  up  by  me  in  your  pres- 
ence from  the  cellar  floor  acro&s  which  we 
both  know  that  her  footsteps  have  passed,  you 
will  see  that  it  is  a  proof  capable  of  convict- 
ing her  of  the  fact" 

I  held  out  the  scrap  I  now  took  from  my 
pocket 

Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's  hand  refused  to  take  it 
or  her  eyes  to  consult  it. 

E'evertheless  I  still  held  it  out 

^Tray  read  the  few  words  you  will  find 
there,"  I  urged.  "They  are  in  explanation 
of  the  document  itself,  but  they  will  serve 
to  convince  you  that  the  letter  to  which  they 
were  attached,  and  which  is  now  in  Mrs. 
Carew's  hands,  came  from  that  decaying  room." 

"JN'o,  no!"  The  gesture  which  accompanied 
this  exclamation  was  more  than  one  of  refusal, 
it  was  that  of  repulse.  "I  can  not  see — I 
do  not  need  to — I   am  convinced." 

"Pardon  me,  but  that  is  not  enough,  Mrs. 
284 


'^WHAT  DO  YOU  KNOWf^ 

Oeumpaugli.  I  want  you  to  be  certain.  Let 
me  read  these  words.  The  story  they  prefaced 
is  unknown  to  you;  let  it  remain  so;  all  I 
need  to  tell  you  about  it  is  this:  that  it  was 
written  by  Mr.  Ocumpaugh's  father — he  who 
raised  this  partition  and  who  is  the  undoubted 
author  of  these  lines.  Remember  that  they 
headed  the  letter: 

""  'Perish  with  the  room  whose  ceiling  oozes 
hlood!  If  in  time  to  come  any  man  reads  these 
lines,  he  will  know  why  I  'pulled  down  the  enr 
circling  wall  built  by  my  father,  and  why  I 
raised  a  new  one  across  this  end  of  the  pavil- 
im/  " 

Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's  eyes  opened  wide  in  hor- 
ror. 

"Blood!"  she  repeated.  "A  ceiling  oozing 
blood!" 

"An  old  superstition,  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,  quite 
unworthy  your  attention  at  this  moment.  Do 
not  let  your  mind  dwell  upon  that  portion  of 
what  I  have  read,  but  on  the  word  ''room' 
Terish  with  the  room!'  We  know  what  room 
was  meant;  there  can  be  but  one.  I  have  my- 
self seen  the  desk  from  which  these  sheets 
were  undoubtedly  taken — and  for  them  to  be 
285 


THE  MILLIOKAIHE  BABY 

in  the  hand  of  a  certain  person  argues — " 
Mrs.  Ocumpangh's  hand  went  up  in  dissua- 
sion, but  I  relentlessly  finished — ^'that  she  has 
been  in  that  room !  Are  you  more  than  con- 
vinced of  this  now  ?     Are  you  sure  ?" 

She  did  not  need  to  make  reply;  eyes  and 
attitude  spoke  for  her.  But  it  was  the  look 
and  attitude  of  despair,  not  hope.  Evidently 
she  had  the  very  greatest  reason  to  fear  Mrs, 
Carew,  who  possibly  had  her  hard  side  as  well 
as  her  charming  one. 

To  ease  the  situation,  I  spoke  what  was  in 
both  our  minds. 

"I  see  tliat  you  are  sure.  That  makes  my 
duty  very  plain,  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh.  My  next 
visit  must  be  upon  Mrs.   Carew." 

The  spirit  which,  from  the  beginning  of 
this  later  interview,  had  infused  fresh  strength 
into  her  feeble  frame,  seemed  to  forsake  her 
at  this  simple  declaration;  her  whole  form 
drooped,  and  the  eyes,  which  had  rested  on 
mine,  turned  in  their  old  way  to  the  river. 

I  took  advantage  of  this  circumstance. 

'^Some  one  who  knows  you  well,  who  knows 
the  child  well,  dropped  the  wrong  shoo  into 
the  river." 


"WHAT  DO  YOU  KNOW  V 

A  murmur,  nothing  more,  from  Mrs.  Ocum- 
paugh's  set  lips. 

^ 'Could  it — I  do  not  say  that  it  was — I 
don't  see  any  reason  why  it  should  be — but 
could  it  have  been  Mrs.   Carew  V^ 

Xot  a  sound  this  time,  not  a  sound. 

^'She  Tvas  do"^TL  at  the  dock  that  night  Did 
you  know  it?" 

A  gesture,  but  whether  of  assent  or  dissent 
I  could  not  tell. 

"We  know  of  no  other  person  who  was  there 
but  the  men  employed." 

''What  do  you  IcnowT' 

With  all  her  restraint  gone — a  suffering  and 
despairing  woman,  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  was  on 
her  knees,  grasping  my  arm  with,  both  hands. 

"Quit  this  torture!  tell  me  that  you  know 
it  all  and  leave  me  to — to — die!'^ 

"Madam!" 

I  was  confounded;  and  as  I  looked  at  her 
face,  strained  back  in  wild  appeal,  I  was  more 
than  confounded,  I  was  terrified. 

"Madam,  what  does  this  mean  ?     Are  you — 

you-" 

"Lock  the  door!"  she  cried;   "no  one  must 
come   in   here    now.      I    have    said    so    much 
^87 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

tiiat  I  must  say  more.  Listen  and  be  my 
friend;  oh,  be  my  friend!  Those  were  my 
footsteps  you  saw  in  the  bungalow.  It  was  I 
who  carried  Owendolen  into  that  secret  hole/' 


^8? 


XXI 

PROVIDENCE 

Had  I  suspected  this?  Had  all  my  efforts 
for  the  last  half-hour  been  for  the  purpose 
of  entrapping  her  into  some  such  avowal  ?  I 
do  not  know.  My  ovti  feelings  at  the  time 
are  a  mystery  to  me;  I  blundered  on,  with  a 
blow  here  and  a  blow  there,  till  I  hit  this 
woman  in  a  vital  spot,  and  achieved  the  above 
mentioned  result 

I  was  not  happy  when  I  reached  it  I  felt 
no  elation;  scarcely  any  relief.  It  all  seemed 
so  impossible.  She  marked  the  signs  of  in- 
credulity in  my  face  and  spoke  up  quickly, 
almost  sharply: 

''You  do  not  believe  me.  I  will  prove  the 
truth  of  what  I  say.  Wait — wait!" — and 
running  to  a  closet,  she  pulled  out  a  drawer — 
where  was  her  weakness  now? — and  brought 
from  it  a  pair  of  soiled  white  slippers.  ''If 
the  house  had  been  ransacked,"  she  proceeded 
pantingly,    "these  would   have  told   their  own 

m 


THE  MILLIO]^AIRE  BABY 

tala  I  was  shocked  when  I  saw  their  con- 
dition, and  kept  mj  guests  waiting  till  I 
changed  them.  Oh,  they  will  fit  the  footprints/' 
Her  smile  was  ghastly.  Softly  she  set  the 
shoes  down.  ^'^rs.  Carew  helped  me;  she 
went  for  the  child  at  night  Oh,  we  are  in 
a  terrible  strait,  we  two,  unless  you  will  stand 
by  us  like  a  friend — and  you  will  do  that, 
won't  you,  Mr.  Trevitt?  \No  one  else  knows 
what  I  have  just  confessed — not  even  Doctor 
Pool,  though  he  suspects  me  in  ways  I  never 
dreamed  of.  Money  shall  not  stand  in  the 
way — I  have  a  fortune  of  my  own  now — noth.- 
ing  shall  st^nd  in  the  way,  if  you  will  have 
pity  on  Mrs.  Carew  and  myself  and  help  us 
to  preserve  our  secret'' 

"Madam,  what  secret  ?  I  pray  you  to  make 
me  acquainted  with  the  whole  matter  in  all 
its  details  before  you  ask  my  assistance." 

"Then  you  do  not  know  it?" 

"Xot  altogether,  and  I  must  know  it  alto- 
gether.    First,  what  has  become  of  the  child?" 

"She  is  safe  and  happy.  You  have  seen 
her;  you  mentioned  doing  so  just  now." 

"Harry  ?" 

"Harry." 

290 


PHOVIDEls^CE 

I  rose  before  her  in  intense  excitement 
What  a  plot!  I  stood  aghast  at  its  daring  and 
the  success  it  had  so  nearly  met  with. 

''I've  had  moments  of  suspicion/'  I  admit- 
ted, after  a  short  examination  of  this  beauti- 
ful woman's  face  for  the  marks  of  strength 
which  her  part  in  this  plot  seemed  to  call  for. 
"But  they  all  vanished  before  Mrs.  Carets 
seemingly  open  manner  and  the  perfect  boy- 
ishness of  the  child.  Is  she  an  actress  too— 
Gwendolen  ?" 

''Xot  when  she  plays  horse  and  Indian  and 
other  boyish  games.  She  is  only  acting  out 
her  nature.  She  has  no  girl  tastes;  she  is  aU 
boy,  and  it  was  by  means  of  these  instincts 
that  Mrs.  Carew  won  her.  She  promised  her 
that  if  she  would  leave  home  and  go  with  her 
to  Europe  she  would  cut  her  hair  and  call  her 
Harry,  and  dress  her  so  that  every  one  would 
tliink  her  a  boy.  And  she  promised  her  some- 
thing else— that  she  should  go  to  her  father- 
Gwendolen  idolizes  Mr.  Ocumpaugh." 

"But—" 

"I  know.  You  wonder  why,  if  I  loved  my 
husband,  I  should  send  away  the  one  cherished 
object  of  hii  lifa  It  is  because  our  love  was 
291 


THE  MILLIOKAIRE  BABY 

throatened  by  this  very  object.  I  saw  noth- 
ing but  death  and  chaos  before  me  if  I  kept 
her.  My  husband  adores  the  child,  but  he 
hates  and  despises  a  falsehood  and  my  secret 
was  threatened  by  the  one  man  who  knows  it — 
your  Doctor  Pool.  My  accomplice  once,  he  de- 
clared himself  ready  to  become  my  accuser  if 
the  child  remained  under  the  Ocumpaugh  roof 
one  day  after  the  date  he  fixed  for  her  re- 
moval." 

"Ah!''  I  ejaculated,  with  sudden  compre- 
hension of  the  full  meaning  of  the  scrawls  I 
had  seen  in  so  many  parts  of  the  grounds. 
"And  by  what  right  did  he  demand  this  ?  What 
excuse  did  he  give  you  ?  His  wish  for  money, 
immense  money — old  miser  that  he  is !" 

"No;  for  money  I  could  have  given  him. 
His  motive  is  a  less  tangible  one.  He  has 
scruples,  he  says — religious  scruples  following 
a  change  of  heart  Oh,  he  was  a  cruel  man 
to  meet,  determined,  inexorable.  I  could  not 
move  or  influence  him.  The  proffer  of  money 
only  hurt  my  cause.  A  fraud  had  been  per- 
petrated, he  said,  and  Mr.  Ocumpaugh  must 
know  it  Would  I  confess  the  truth  to  him 
myself  ?  No.  Then  he  would  do  so  for  me 
292 


PROVIDElSrCE 

and  bring  proofs  to  substantiate  bis  statements. 
I  thougbt  all  was  lost — my  busband's  confi- 
dence, bis  love,  bis  pleasure  even  in  tbe  cbild, 
for  it  was  bis  own  blood  tbat  be  loved  in  ber, 
and  ber  connection  witb  bis  family  of  wbose 
prestige  be  bas  an  exaggerated  idea.  Made 
desperate  by  tbe  tbougbt,  I  faced  tbis  cruel 
doctor — (it  was  in  bis  own  office;  be  bad  pr^ 
sumed  upon  tbat  old  secret  linking  us  together 
to  summon  me  tbere) — and  told  bim  solemnly 
tbat  ratber  tban  do  tbis  I  would  kill  myself. 
And  be  almost  bade  me,  'Kill !'  but  refrained 
wben  tbe  word  bad  balf  left  bis  lips  and 
changed  it  to  a  demand  for  tbe  child's  imme- 
diate removal  from  tbe  benefits  it  enjoyed  un- 
der false  pretenses." 

And  from  this  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  went  on  to 
relate  bow  he  had  told  her  that  Gwendolen  had 
inherited  fortunes  because  she  was  believed  to 
be  an  Ocumpaugh;  tbat  not  being  an  Ocum- 
paugh she  must  never  handle  those  fortunes, 
winding  up  with  some  such  language  as  this; 
"Manage  it  how  you  will,  only  relieve  me  from 
the  oppression  of  feeling  myself  a  party  to 
the  grossest  of  deceptions.  Can  not  the  child 
run  away  and  be  lost?  I  am  willing  to  aid 
293 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

jou  in  that,  even  to  paving  for  her  bringing  up 
in  some  decent,  respectable  way,  such  as  would 
probably  have  been  her  lot  if  you  had  not  in- 
terfered to  place  her  in  the  way  of  millions. '^ 
It  was  a  mad  thought,  half  meant  and  appar- 
ently wholly  impossible  to  carry  out  without 
raising  suspicions  as  damaging  as  confession 
itself.  But  it  took  an  immediate  hold  upon 
the  miserable  woman  he  addressed,  though  she 
gave  little  evidence  of  it,  for  he  proceeded  to 
add  in  a  hard  tone:  'That  or  immediate  con- 
fession to  your  husband,  with  me  by  to  sub- 
stantiate your  story.  Xo  slippery  woman^s 
tricks  will  go  down  with  me.  Eix  the  date 
here  and  now  and  I  promise  to  stand  back  and 
await  the  result  in  total  silence.  Dally  with 
it  by  so  much  as  an  hour,  and  I  am  at  your 
gates  with  a  story  that  all  must  hear."  Is  it 
a  matter  of  wonder  that  the  stricken  woman, 
without  counsel  and  prohibited,  from  the  very 
nature  of  her  secret,  from  seeking  counsel,  ut- 
tered the  first  one  that  came  to  mind  and  went 
home  to  brood  over  her  position  and  plan  how 
she  could  satisfy  his  demands  with  the  least 
cost  to  herself,  her  husband  and  the  child? 
Mr.  Ocumpaugh  was  in  Europe.  This  was 
294 


PEOVIDEXCE 

her  one  point  of  comfort  "WTiat  was  done 
could  be  done  in  his  absence,  and  this  fact 
greatly  minimized  any  risk  she  was  likely  to 
incur.  When  he  returned  he  would  find  the 
house  in  mourning,  for  she  had  already  de- 
cided within  herself  that  only  by  apparent 
death  could  this  child  be  safely  robbed  of  her 
endowments  as  an  Ocumpaugh  and  an  heiress. 
He  would  grieve,  but  his  grief  would  lack  the 
sting  of  shame,  and  so  in  course  of  time  would 
soften  into  a  lovely  memory  of  one  who  had 
been  as  the  living  sunshine  to  him  and,  like 
the  sunshine,  brief  in  its  shining.  Thus  and 
thus  only  could  she  show  her  consideration  for 
him.  For  herself  no  consideration  was  pos- 
sible. It  must  always  be  her  fate  to  know  the 
child  alive  yet  absolutely  removed  from  her. 
This  was  a  sorrow  capable  of  no  alleviation, 
for  Gwendolen  was  passionately  dear  to  her, 
all  the  dearer,  perhaps,  because  the  mother- 
thirst  had  never  been  satisfied ;  because  she  had 
held  the  cup  in  hand  but  had  never  been  al- 
lowed to  drink.  The  child's  future — how  to 
rob  her  of  all  she  possessed,  yet  secure  her  hap- 
piness and  the  prospect  of  an  honorable  es- 
tate— ah,  there  was  the  difficulty!  and  one  she 
295 


THE  millio:d^aihe  baby 

quite  failed  to  solve  till,  in  a  paroxysm  of  ter- 
ror and  despair,  after  five  sleepless  nights,  she 
took  Mrs.  Carew  into  her  confidence  and  im- 
plored her  aid. 

The  free,  resourceful,  cheery  nature  of  the 
broader-minded  woman  saw  through  the  diffi- 
culty at  once.  ^'Give  her  to  me,"  she  cried. 
"I  love  little  children  passionately  and  have  al- 
ways grieved  over  my  childless  condition.  I 
will  take  Gwendolen,  raise  her  and  fill  her  lit- 
tle heart  so  full  of  love  she  will  never  miss 
the  magnificence  she  has  been  brought  to  look 
upon  as  her  birthright.  Only  I  shall  have  to 
leave  this  vicinity — perhaps  the  country." 

''And  you  would  be  willing  ?"  asked  the  poor 
mother — mother  by  right  of  many  years  of 
service,  if  not  of  blood. 

The  answer  broke  her  heart  though  it  waa 
only  a  smile.  But  such  a  smile — confident, 
joyous,  triumphant;  the  smile  of  a  woman  who 
has  got  her  heart's  wish,  while  she,  she,  must 
henceforth  live  childless. 

So  that  was  settled,  but  not  the  necessary- 
ways  and  means  of  accomplishment;  those 
came  only  with  time.  Tlie  two  women  had 
always  been  friends,  so  their  frequent  meet- 
296 


PHOVIDEHCE 

ings  in  the  green  boudoir  did  not  waken  a  sus- 
picion. A  sudden  trip  to  Europe  was  decided 
on  by  Mrs.  Carew  and  by  degrees  the  whole 
plot  perfected.  In  her  eyes  it  looked  feasible 
enough  and  they  both  anticipated  complete 
success.  Having  decided  that  the  scheme  as 
planned  by  them  could  be  best  carried  out  in 
the  confusion  of  a  great  entertainment,  cards 
were  sent  out  for  the  sixteenth,  the  date  agreed 
upon  in  the  doctor's  office  as  the  one  which 
should  see  a  complete  change  in  Gwendolen's 
prospects.  It  was  also  settled  that  on  the  same 
day  Mrs.  Carew  should  bring  home,  from  a 
certain  small  village  in  Connecticut,  ber  little 
nephew  who  had  lately  been  left  an  orphan. 
There  was  no  deception  about  this  nephew. 
Mrs.  Carew  had  for  some  time  supplied  his 
needs  and  paid  for  his  board  in  the  farm-house 
where  he  had  been  left,  and  in  the  emergency 
which  had  just  come  up,  she  took  care  to  pub- 
lish to  all  her  friends  that  she  w^as  going  to 
bring  him  home  and  take  him  with  her  to 
Europe.  Further,  a  market-man  and  woman 
with  whom  Mrs.  Carew  had  had  dealings  for 
years  were  persuaded  to  call  at  her  house  short- 
ly after  three  that  afternoon,  to  take  this  neph- 
297 


THE  MILLIO'A^AIEE  BABY 

ew  of  hers  by  a  circuitous  and  prolonged  ride 
through  the  country  to  an  institution  in  which 
she  had  had  him  entered  under  an  assumed 
name.     All  this  in  one  day. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Carew  undertook  to  open 
with  her  own  hands  a  passage  from  the  cellar 
of  the  bungalow  into  the  long  closed  room  be- 
hind the  partition.  This  was  to  insure  such 
a  safe  retreat  for  the  child  during  the  first 
search,  that  by  no  possibility  could  anything 
be  found  to  contradict  the  testimony  of  the  lit- 
tle shoe  which  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  purposed  pre- 
senting to  all  eyes  as  found  on  the  slope  lead- 
ing to  that  great  burial-place,  the  river.  Oth- 
erwise the  child  might  have  been  passed  over 
to  Mrs.  Carew  at  once.  All  this  being  decided 
upon,  each  waited  to  perform  the  part  assigned 
her — Mrs.  Carew  in  a  fever  of  delight — for 
she  was  passionately  devoted  to  Gwendolen 
and  experienced  nothing  but  rapture  at  the 
prospect  of  having  this  charming  child  all  to 
herself — Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,  whose  only  recom- 
pense would  be  freedom  from  a  threatening  ex- 
posure which  would  cost  her  the  only  thing 
she  prized,  her  husband^s  love,  in  a  condition 
of  cold  dread,  relieved  only  by  the  burning 
298 


proyide:n'ce 

sense  of  the  necessity  of  impressing  upon  tiie 
whole  world,  and  espe<2ially  upon  Mr.  Ocum- 
paugh,  an  absolute  belief  in  the  child's  death. 
This  was  her  first  care.  To  this  her  mind 
clung  with  an  agony  of  purpose  which  was  the 
fittest  preparation  possible  for  real  display  of 
feeling  when  the  time  came.  But  she  forgot 
one  thing — they  both  forgot  one  thing — that 
chance  or  Providence  might  ordain  that  wit- 
nesses should  be  on  the  road  below  Homewood 
to  prove  that  the  child  did  not  cross  the  track 
at  the  time  of  her  disappearance.  To  them  it 
seemed  enough  to  plead  the  child's  love  for 
the  water,  her  desire  to  be  allowed  to  fish,  the 
opportunity  given  her  to  escape,  and — the  lit- 
tle shoes.  Such  short-sightedness  in  face  of  a 
great  peril  could  be  pardoned  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh 
on  the  verge  of  delirium  under  her  cold  ex- 
terior, but  Mrs.  Carew  should  have  taken  this 
possibility  into  account ;  and  would  have  done 
so,  probably,  had  she  not  been  completely  ab- 
sorbed in  the  part  she  would  be  called  upon 
to  play  when  the  exchange  of  children  should 
be  made  and  Gwendolen  be  intnisted  to  her 
charge  within  a  dozen  rods  of  her  own  homa 
This  she  could  dwell  on  with  the  whole  force 
299 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

of  her  mind;  this  she  could  view  in  all  its  re- 
lations and  make  such  a  study  of  as  to  pro- 
vide herself  against  all  contingencies.  But 
the  obvious  danger  of  a  gang  of  men  being 
placed  just  where  thej  could  serve  as  witnessr 
es,  in  contradiction  of  the  one  fact  upon  which 
the  whole  plot  was  based,  never  even  struck 
her  imagination. 

The  nurserj-govemess  whose  heart  was  di- 
vided between  her  duty  to  the  child  and  her 
strong  love  of  music,  was  chosen  as  their  un- 
conscious accomplice  in  this  fraud.  As  the 
time  for  the  great  musicale  approached,  she 
was  bidden  to  amuse  Gwendolen  in  the  bun- 
galow, with  the  understanding  that  if  the  child 
fell  asleep  she  might  lay  her  on  the  divan  and 
so  far  leave  her  as  to  take  her  place  on  the 
bench  outside  where  tlie  notes  of  the  solo  sing- 
ers could  reach  her.  That  Gwendolen  would 
fall  asleep  and  fall  asleep  soon,  the  wretched 
mother  well  knew,  for  she  had  given  her  a 
safe  but  potent  sleeping  draft  which  could  not 
fail  to  insure  a  twelve  hours'  undistur1>ed 
slumber  to  so  healthy  a  child.  The  fact  that 
the  little  one  had  shrunk  more  than  ever  from 
her  attentions  that  morning  both  hurt  and  en- 
800 


PHOVIDENCE 

conraged   her.      Certainly   it   would  make   it 
easier  for  Mrs.  Carew  to  influence  Gwendolen. 
In  her  own  mind  filled  with  terrible  images 
of  her  husband's  grief  and  her  long  prospect- 
ive dissimulation,  one  picture  rose  in  brilliant 
contrast  to  tlie  dark  one  embodying  her  own 
miserable  future  and  that  of  the  soon-to-be  be- 
reaved father.     It  was  that  of  the  perfect  joy 
of  the  hungry-hearted  child  in  the  arms  of  the 
woman  she  loved  best.    It  brought  her  cheer- 
it  brought  her  anguish.     It  was  a  salve  to  her 
conscience  and  a  mortal  thrust  in  an  already 
festering  wound.      She  shut  it  from  her  eyes 
as  much  as  possible —and  so,  the  hour  came. 
We  know  its  results— how  far  the  scheme 
succeeded  and  whence  its  great  failure  arose. 
Gwendolen  fell  asleep  almost  immediately  on 
reaching    the    bungalow    and    Miss    Graham, 
dreaming  no  harm  and  ha^dng  the  most  per- 
fect confidence  in  Mrs.   Ocumpaugh,  took  ad- 
vantage  of   the   permission   she   had   received, 
and  slipped   outside  to  sit  on  tlie  bench  and 
listen   to   the   music.     Presently    Mrs.    Ocum- 
paugh appeared,  saying  that  she  had  left  her 
guest?  for  a  moment  just  to  take  a  look  at 
Gwendolen  and  see  if  all  were  well  with  her. 
301 


THE  MILLIONAIKE  BABY 

As  she  needed  no  attendance,  Miss  Graham 
might  stay  where  she  was.  And  Miss  Graham 
did,  taking  great  pleasure  in  the  music,  which 
was  the  finest  she  had  ever  heard.  Meanwhile 
Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  entered  the  bungalow,  and, 
untying  the  child's  shoes  as  she  had  frequently 
done  before  when  she  found  her  asleep,  she 
lifted  her  and  carried  her  just  as  she  was 
down  tlie  trap,  the  door  of  which  she  had  pre- 
viously raised.  The  darkness  lurking  in  such 
places,  a  darkness  which  had  rendered  it  so 
impenetrable  at  midnight,  was  relieved  to  some 
extent  in  daylight  by  means  of  little  grated 
openings  in  the  wall  under  the  beams,  so  that 
her  chief  difficulty  lay  in  holding  up  her  long 
dress  and  sustaining  the  hea\y  child  at  the 
same  time.  But  the  exigency  of  the  moment 
and  her  apprehension  lest  Miss  Graham  should 
reenter  the  bungalow  before  she  could  finish 
her  task  and  escape,  gave  great  precision  to 
her  movements,  and  in  an  incredibly  short 
space  of  time  she  had  reached  those  musty 
precincts  which,  if  they  should  not  prove  the 
death  of  the  child,  would  safely  shelter  her 
from  every  one's  eye,  till  the  first  excitement  of 
her  loss  was  over,  and  the  conviction  of  her 
302 


PROVIDENCE 

death  by  drowning  became  a  settled  fact  in 
every  mind. 

Mrs.  Ocumpaugti's  return  was  a  flight.  She 
had  brought  one  of  the  little  shoes  with  her, 
concealed  in  a  pocket  she  had  made  especially 
for  it  in  the  trimmings  of  her  elaborate  gown. 
She  found  the  bungalow  empty,  the  trap  still 
raised,  and  Miss  Graham,  toward  whom  she 
cast  a  hurried  look  through  the  windovr,  yet 
in  her  place,  listening  with  enthralled  atten- 
tion to  the  great  tenor  upon  whose  magnifi- 
csent  singing  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  had  relied  for 
the  successful  carrying  out  of  what  she  and 
Mrs.  Carew  considered  the  most  critical  part 
of  the  plot  So  far  then,  all  was  well.  She 
had  but  to  drop  the  trap-door  carefully  to  its 
place,  replace  the  comer  of  the  cai^et  she  had 
pulled  up,  push  down  with  her  foot  the  two 
or  three  nails  she  had  previously  loosened,  and 
she  would  be  quite  at  liberty  to  quit  the  place 
and  return  to  her  guests. 

But  she  found  that  this  was  not  as  easy  as 
she  had  imagined.  The  clogs  of  a  terrible, 
almost  a  criminal,  consciousness  held  back  her 
steps.  She  stumbled  as  she  left  the  bungalow 
and  stopped  to  catch  her  breath  as  if  the  op- 
303 


THE  MILLIONAIEE  BABY 

pression  of  the  room  in  which  she  had  im- 
mured her  darling  had  infected  the  sunny  air 
of  tliis  glorious  day  and  made  free  breatliing 
an  impossibility.  The  vreights  on  her  feet  were 
go  palpable  to  her  that  she  imconsciously 
looked  down  at  them.  This  was  how  she  came 
to  notice  the  dust  on  her  shoes.  Alive  to  the 
story  it  told,  she  burst  the  spell  which  held 
her  and  made  a  bound  toward  the  house. 

Rushing  to  her  room  she  shook  her  skirts 
and  changed  her  shoes,  and  thus  freed  from 
all  connecting  links  with  that  secret  spot,  re- 
entered among  her  guests,  as  beautiful  and 
probably  as  wretched  a  woman  as  the  world 
contained  that  day. 

Yet  not  as  wretched  as  she  could  be. 
There  were  depths  beneath  these  depths.  If 
he  should  ever  know!  If  he  should  ever  come 
to  look  at  her  with  horrified,  even  alienated 
eyes !  Ah,  that  were  the  end — that  would  mean 
the  river  for  her — the  river  which  all  were  so 
soon  to  think  had  swallowed  the  little  Gwen- 
dolen. Was  that  Miss  Graham  coming  ?  Was 
the  stir  she  now  heard  outside,  the  first  indica- 
tion of  the  hue  and  cry  which  would  soon  ring 
through  the  whole  plac«  and  her  shrinking  heart 

804 


PEOVIDENCE 

as  well  ?  1^0,  no,  not  yet.  She  could  still  smile, 
must  smile  and  smite  tier  two  glove-covered 
hands  together  in  simulated  applause  of  notes 
and  tones  she  did  not  even  hear.  And  no  one 
noted  anything  strange  in  that  smile  or  in  that 
gracious  bringing  together  of  hands,  which  if 
any  one  had  had  the  impulse  to  touch — 

But  no  one  thought  of  doing  that.  A  heart 
may  bleed  drop  by  drop  to  its  death  in  our 
full  sight  without  our  suspecting  it,  if  the  eyes 
above  it  still  beam  with  natural  brightness. 
And  hers  did  that.  She  had  always  been 
called  impassive.  God  be  thanied  that  no 
warmth  was  expected  from  her  and  that  no 
one  would  suspect  the  death  she  was  dying,  if 
she  did  not  cry  out.  But  the  moment  came 
when  she  did  cry  out  Miss  Graham  entered, 
told  her  story,  and  all  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's  pent- 
up  agony  burst  its  bounds  in  a  scre-am  which 
to  others  seemed  but  the  natural  outburst  of 
an  alarmed  mother.  She  fled  to  the  bunga- 
low, because  that  seemed  the  natural  thing  to 
do,  and  never  forgetting  what  was  expected 
of  her,  cried  aloud  in  presence  of  its  empti- 
ness: "The  river!  the  river!"  and  went  stum- 
bling down  the  bank. 

305 


THE  MILLIOXAIEE  BABY 

The  shoe  was  near  her  hand  and  she  drew 
it  out  as  she  went  on.  When  they  found  her 
she  had  fainted;  the  excess  of  excitement  has 
this  natural  outcome^  She  did  not  have  to 
play  a  part,  the  humiliation  of  her  owti  deed 
and  the  terrors  yet  to  come  were  eating  up  her 
very  soul.  Then  came  the  blow,  the  unex- 
pected, overwhelming  blow  of  finding  that  the 
deception  planned  with  such  care — a  deception 
upon  the  success  of  which  the  whole  safety  of 
the  scheme  depended — was  likely  to  fail  just 
for  the  simple  reason  that  a  dozen  men  could 
swear  that  the  child  had  never  crossed  the 
track.  She  was  dazed — confounded.  Mrs.  Ca- 
rew  was  not  by  to  counsel  her;  she  had  her 
own  part  in  this  business  to  play;  and  Mrs. 
Ocumpaugh,  conscious  of  being  mentally  unfit 
for  any  new  planning,  conscious  indeed  of  not 
being  able  to  think  at  all,  simply  followed  her 
instinct  and  held  to  the  old  cry  in  face  of 
proof,  of  persuasion,  of  reason  even;  and  so, 
did  the  very  wisest  thing  possible,  no  one 
expecting  reason  in  a  mother  reeling  under 
such  a  vital  shock. 

But  the  cooler,  more  subtile  and  less  guilty 
Mrs.   Carew  had  some  judgment  left,   if  her 

306 


piiovide:n"ce 

friend  had  lost  hers.  Her  own  part  had  been 
well  played.  She  had  brought  her  nephew 
home  without  giving  any  one,  not  even  the 
maid  she  had  provided  herself  with  in  'New 
York,  an  opportunity  to  see  his  face;  and  she 
had  passed  him  over,  dressed  in  quite  differ- 
ent clothes,  to  the  couple  in  the  farm-wagon, 
who  had  carried  him,  as  she  supposed,  safely 
out  of  reach  and  any  possibility  of  discovery. 
You  see  her  calculations  failed  here  also.  She 
did  not  credit  the  doctor  with  even  the  little 
conscience  he  possessed,  and,  unconscious  of 
his  near  waiting  on  the  highway  in  an:siou3 
watch  for  the  event  concerning  which  he  had 
his  own  secret  doubts,  she  deluded  herself  into 
thinking  that  all  they  had  to  fear  was  a  con- 
tinuation of  the  impression  that  Gwendolen 
had  not  gone  doTSTi  to  the  river  and  been 
drowned. 

When,  therefore,  she  had  acted  out  her  little 
part — received  the  searching  party  and  gone 
with  them  all  over  the  house  even  to  the  door 
of  the  room  where  she  said  her  little  nephew 
was  resting  after  his  journey — (Did  they  looi 
in?  Perhaps,  and  perhaps  not,  it  mattered 
little,  for  the  bed  had  been  arranged  against 

oU  4 


THE  millio:n^aire  baby, 

this  contingency  and  no  one  but  a  detective 
bent  upon  ferreting  out  crime  would  have 
found  it  empty) — she  asked  herself  how  she 
could  strengthen  the  situation  and  cause  the 
theory  advanced  by  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  to  be 
received,  not^vithstanding  the  evidence  of  seem- 
ing eye-witnesses.  The  result  was  the  thrQW- 
ing  of  a  second  shoe  into  the  water  as  soon 
as  it  was  dark  enough  for  her  to  do  this  un- 
seen. As  she  had  to  approach  the  river  by 
her  own  grounds,  and  as  she  was  obliged  to 
choose  a  place  sufficiently  remote  from  the 
lights  about  the  dock  not  to  incur  the  risk  of 
being  detected  in  her  hazardous  attempt,  the 
shoe  fell  at  a  spot  farther  down  stream  than 
the  searchers  had  yet  reached,  and  the  in- 
tense excitement  I  had  myself  seen  in  Mrs. 
Ocumpaugh's  face  the  day  I  made  my  first 
visit  to  Home  wood,  sprang  from  the  agony 
of  suspense  with  which  she  watched,  after 
twenty-four  hours  of  alternating  expectation 
and  disappointment,  the  finding  of  this  second 
shoe  which,  with  fanatic  confidence,  she  hoped 
would  bring  all  the  confirmation  to  be  desired 
of  her  oft-repeated  declaration  that  the  child 
would  yet  be  found  in  the  river. 
308 


PEOYIDEXCE 

Meanwliile,  to  the  infinite  dismay  of  both, 
the  matter  had  been  placed  in  the  hands  of 
the  police  and  word  sent  to  Mr.  Ocumpaugh, 
not  that  the  child  was  dead,  but  missing.  Thia 
meant  world-wide  publicity  and  the  constant 
coming  and  going  about  Homewood  of  the  very 
men  whose  insight  and  sur^'eillance  were  most 
to  be  dreaded.  l[rs.  Ocumpaugh  sank  under 
the  terrors  thus  accumulating  upon  lier;  but 
Mrs.  Carew,  of  different  temperament  and  his- 
tory, rose  to  meet  them  with  a  courage  which 
bade  fair  to  carry  everything  before  it. 

As  midnight  approached  (the  hour  agreed 
upon  in  their  compact)  she  prepared  to  go  for 
Gwendolen.  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,  who  had  not 
forgotten  what  was  expected  of  her  at  that 
hour,  roused  as  the  clock  struck  twelve,  and 
uttering  a  loud  cry,  rushed  from  her  place  in 
the  window  down  to  the  la^^m,  calling  out  that 
she  had  heard  the  men  shout  aloud  from  the 
boats.  Her  plan  was  to  draw  every  one  who 
chanced  to  be  about,  do^m  to  the  river  bank, 
in  order  to  give  Mi^.  Carew  full  opportunity 
to  go  and  come  unseen  on  her  dangerous  er- 
rand. And  she  apparently  succeeded  in  this, 
for  by  the  time  she  had  crept  back  in  seeming 
-309 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

disappointment  to  the  house^  a  Hght  oonld  be 
seen  burning  behind  a  pink  shade  in  one  of 
Mrs.  Carew's  upper  windows — the  signal 
agreed  upon  between  them  of  the  presence  of 
Gwendolen  in  her  new  home. 

But  small  was  the  relief  as  jet.  The  shoe 
had  not  been  found,  and  at  any  moment  some 
intruder  might  force  his  way  into  Mrs.  Carew's 
house  and,  in  spite  of  all  her  precautions,  suc- 
ceed in  obtaining  a  view  of  the  little  Harry 
and  recognize  in  him  the  missing  child. 

Of  these  same  precautions  some  mention 
must  be  made.  The  artful  widow  had  begun 
by  dismissing  all  her  help,  giving  as  an  excuse 
her  speedy  departure  for  Europe,  and  the  col- 
ored girl  she  had  brought  up  from  Xew  York 
saw  no  difference  in  the  child  nmning  about 
the  house  in  its  little  velvet  suit  from  the  one 
who,  with  bound-up  face  and  a  heavy  shade 
over  his  eyes,  came  up  in  the  cars  with  her  in 
Mrs.  Carew's  lap.  Her  duties  being  limited 
to  a  far-off  watch  on  the  child  to  see  that  it 
came  to  no  harm,  she  was  the  best  witness  pos- 
sible in  case  of  police  intrusion  or  neighbor- 
hood gossip.  As  for  Gwendolen  herself,  the 
novelty  of  the  experience  and  the  prospect  held 
310 


PROVIDEXCE 

out  bv  a  speedy  departure  to  "papa's  country'' 
kept  her  amused  and  even  hilarious.  She 
laughed  when  her  hair  was  cut  short,  dark- 
ened and  parted.  She  missed  but  one  thing, 
and  that  was  her  pet  plaything  which  she 
used  to  carry  to  bed  with  her  at  night.  The 
lack  of  this  caused  some  tears — a  grief  which 
was  divined  by  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,  who  took 
pains  to  assuage  it  in  the  manner  we  all  know. 
But  this  was  after  the  finding  of  the  sec- 
ond shoe;  the  event  so  long  anticipated  and 
so  little  productive.  Somehow,  neither  Mrs.  Ca- 
rew  nor  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  had  taken  into  con- 
sideration the  fact  of  the  child's  shoes  being 
rights  and  lefts,  and  when  this  attempt  to  sec- 
ond the  first  deception  was  decided  on,  it  wa3 
thought  a  matter  of  congratulation  that  Gwen- 
dolen had  been  supplied  with  two  pairs  of  the 
same  make  and  that  one  pair  yet  remained  in 
her  closet.  The  mate  of  that  shown  by  Mrs. 
Ocumpaugh  was  still  on  the  child's  foot  in  the 
bungalow,  but  there  being  no  difference  in  any 
of  them,  what  was  simpler  than  to  take  one  of 
these  and  fling  it  where  it  would  be  found. 
Alas !  the  one  seized  upon  by  Mrs.  Carew  was 
for  the  same  foot  a?  that  already  sho^vn  and 
311 


THE  MILLIO:^AIRE  BABY 

commented  on,  and  thus  this  second  attempt 
failed  even  more  completely  than  the  first,  and 
oeople  began  to  cry,  ''A  conspiracy  T' 

And  a  conspiracy  it  was,  but  one  which 
night  yet  have  succeeded  if  Doctor  Pool's  sus- 
picion of  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's  intentions,  and 
my  own  secret  knowledge  of  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's 
real  position  toward  this  child,  could  have 
been  eliminated  from  the  situation.  But  with 
those  two  factors  against  them,  detection  had 
crept  upon  them  in  unknown  ways,  and  neither 
Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's  frantic  clinging  to  tlie  the- 
ory she  had  so  recklessly  advanced,  nor  Mrs. 
CareVs  determined  effort  to  meet  suspicion 
with  the  brave  front  calculated  to  disarm  it, 
was  of  any  avail.  The  truth  would  have  its 
way  and  their  secret  stood  revealed. 

This  was  the  story  told  me  by  Mrs.  Ocum- 
paugh ;  not  in  the  continuous  and  detailed 
manner  I  have  here  set  down,  but  in  disjointed 
sentences  and  wild  bursts  of  disordered  speech. 
When  it  was  finished  she  turned  upon  me  eyes 
full  of  haggard  inquiiy. 

"Our  fate  is  in  your  hands,"  she  falteringly 
declared.     ^' What  will  you  do  with  it  ?" 

It  was  the  hardest  question  which  had  ever 
312 


PROVIDENCE 

been  put  me.  For  minutes  I  contemplated  her 
in  a  silence  which  must  have  been  one  pro- 
longed agony  to  her.  I  did  not  see  my  way; 
I  did  not  see  my  duty.  Then  the  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars ! 

At  last,  I  replied  as  follows; 

''Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,  if  you  will  let  me  ad- 
vise you,  as  a  man  intensely  interested  in  the 
happiness  of  yourself  and  husband,  I  would 
suggest  your  meeting  him  at  quarantine  and 
telling  him  the  whole  truth." 

"I  would  rather  die,"  said  she. 

''Yet  only  by  doing  what  I  suggest  can  you 
find  any  peace  in  life.  The  consciousness  that 
others  know  your  secret  will  come  between  you 
and  any  satisfaction  you  can  ever  get  out  of 
your  husband's  continued  confidence.  A  wrong 
has  been  done;  you  are  the  only  one  to  right 
it" 

"I  can  not.  I  can  die,  but  I  can  not  do 
that" 

x\nd  for  a  minute  I  thought  she  would  die 
then  and  there. 

"Doctor  Pool  is  a  fanatic;  he  will  pursue 
you  until  he  is  assured  that  the  child  is  in 
good  hands." 

313 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

"You  can  assure  him  of  ttat  now." 
"!N"ext  month  his  exactions  may  take  another 
direction.  You  can  never  trust  a  man  who 
thinks  he  has  a  mission.  Pardon  my  presump- 
tion. 'No  mercenary  motive  prompts  what  I 
am  saying  now." 

*^So  you  intend  to  publish  my  story,  if  I 
do  not?" 

I  hesitated  again.  Such  questions  can  not 
be  decided  in  a  moment  Then,  with  a  cer- 
tain consciousness  of  doing  right,  I  answered 
earnestly : 

"To  no  one  but  to  Mr.  Ocumpaugh  do  I  feel 
called  upon  to  disclose  what  really  concerns 
no  one  but  yourself  and  him." 

Her  hands  rose  toward  me  in  a  gesture 
which  may  have  been  an  expression  of  grati- 
tude or  only  one  of  simple  appeal. 

"He  is  not  due  until  Saturday,"  I  added 
gently. 

ISTo  answer  from  the  cold  lips.  I  do  not 
think  she  could  have  spoken  if  she  had  tried 


fl4 


XXII 

ON   THE   SECOND   TEERACB 

My  first  step  on  leaving  Homewood  was 
to  seek  a  public  telephone.  Calling  up  Doctor 
Pool  in  YonkerSj  I  assured  him  that  he 
might  rest  easy  as  to  the  young  patient 
to  whose  doubtful  condition  he  had  called  my 
attention.  That  she  was  in  good  hands  and 
was  doing  well.  That  I  had  seen  her  and 
would  give  him  all  necessary  particulars  when 
I  came  to  interview  him  later  in  the  day.  To 
his  uneasy  questions  I  vouchsafed  little  reply. 
I  was  by  no  means  sure  of  the  advisability  of 
taking  him  into  my  full  confidence.  It  was 
enough  for  him  to  know  that  his  demands 
had  been  complied  with  without  injury  to  the 
child. 

Before  hanging  up  the  receiver,  I  put  him  a 
question  on  my  o^vn  behalf.  How  was  the 
boy  in  his  charge?  The  growl  he  returned  me 
was  very  non-committal,  and  afforded  me  some 
food  for  thought  as  I  turned  back  to  Mrs.  Ca- 

•315 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

reVs  cottage,  where  I  now  proposed  to  make 
a  final  visit. 

I  entered  from  the  road.  The  heavily  wood- 
ed grounds  looked  desolate.  The  copper  beeches 
which  are  the  glory  of  the  place  seemed  to 
have  lost  color  since  I  last  saw  them  above 
the  intervening  hedges.  Even  the  house,  as  it 
gradually  emerged  to  view  through  the  close 
shrubbery,  wore  a  different  aspect  from  usual. 
In  another  moment  I  saw  why.  Every  shutter 
was  closed  and  not  a  vestige  of  life  was  visible 
above  or  below.  Startled,  for  I  had  not  expected 
quite  so  hasty  a  departure  on  her  part,  I  ran 
about  to  the  side  door  where  I  had  previously  en- 
tered and  rang  fit  to  wake  the  dead.  Only 
solitary  echoes  came  from  within  and  I  was 
about  to  curse  the  time  I  had  lost  in  telephon- 
ing to  Doctor  Pool,  when  I  heard  a  slight  sound 
in  the  direction  of  the  private  path,  and,  leap- 
ing hastily  to  the  opening,  caught  the  glimpse 
of  something  or  somebody  disappearing  down 
the  first  flight  of  steps. 

Did  I  run  ?    You  may  believe  I  did,  at  least 

till  I  had  descended  the  first  terrace;  then  my 

steps  grew  gradually  wary  and  finally  ceased; 

for  I  oould  hear  voices  ahead  of  me  on  the  seo- 

J?16 


ON  THE  SECOiN^D  TEHRACE 

ond  terrace  to  which  I  had  now  come,  and 
these  voices  came  from  persons  standing  still. 
If  I  rushed  on  I  should  encounter  these  per- 
Bons,  and  this  was  undesirable.  I  accordingly 
paused  just  short  of  the  top,  and  so  heard  what 
raised  the  moment  into  one  of  tragic  impor- 
tance. 

One  of  the  speakers  was  Mrs.  Carew — 
there  was  no  doubting  this — the  other  was  Mr. 
Rathbone.  From  no  other  lips  than  his  could 
I  hope  to  hear  words  uttered  with  such  inten- 
sity, though  he  was  guarded  in  his  speech,  or 
thought  he  was,  which  is  not  always  the  same 
thing. 

He  was  pleading  with  her,  and  my  heart 
stood  still  with  the  sense  of  threatening  catas- 
trophe as  I  realized  the  attitude  of  the  pair. 
He,  as  every  word  showed,  was  still  ignorant 
of  Gwendolen's  fate,  consequently  of  the  iden- 
tity of  the  child  who  I  had  every  reason  to  be- 
lieve was  at  that  very  moment  fluttering  a  few 
steps  below  in  the  care  of  the  colored  maid, 
whose  voice  I  could  faintly  hear;  she,  with 
his  passion  to  meet  and  quell,  had  this  secret 
to  maintain;  hearing  his  wild  entreaties  with 
one  ear  and  listening  for  the  possible  outbursts 
317 


THE  MILLIOXAIRE  BABY 

of  the  notrto-be-restrained  child  with  the  other; 
mad  to  go — to  catch  her  train  before  discovery 
overwhelmed  her,  jet  not  daring  to  hasten  him, 
for  his  mood  was  a  man's  mood  and  not  to  be 
denied.  I  felt  sorry  for  her,  and  cast  about 
in  my  mind  what  aid  to  give  the  situation, 
when  the  passion  of  his  words  seized  me,  and 
I  forgot  her  position  in  the  interest  I  began 
to  feel  in  his. 

^'Valerie,  Valerie,"  he  was  saying,  "this  ia 
cruelty.  You  go  with,  no  good  cause  that  I 
can  see — put  the  sea  betAveen  us,  and  yet  saj 
no  word  to  make  the  parting  endurable.  You 
understand  what  I  suffer  —  my  hateful 
thoughts,  my  dread,  which  is  not  so  much 
dread  as — Oh,  that  I  should  say  it !  Oh,  that  I 
should  feel  it! — hope;  guilty,  unpardonable 
hope.  Yet  you  refuse  me  the  little  word,  the 
kindly  look,  which  would  alleviate  the  oppres- 
sion of  my  feelings  and  give  me  the  thought  of 
you  to  counteract  this  eternal  brooding  upon 
Gwendolen  and  her  possible  fate.  I  want  a 
promise — conditional,  O  God !  but  yet  a  prom- 
ise; and  you  simply  bid  me  to  have  patience; 
to  wait — as  if  a  man  cotild  wait  who  sees  his 
love,  his  life,  his  future  trembling  in  the  bal- 
318 


ON  THE  SECOXD  TERRACE 

ance  against  tlie  fate  of  a  little  child.  If  you 
loved  me — " 

'*H\ish!''  The  feeling  in  that  word  was  not 
for  him.  I  felt  it  at  once;  it  was  for  her  se- 
cret, threatened  every  instant  she  lingered 
there  by  some  move,  by  some  word  which  might 
escape  n  thoughtless  child.  ^'You  do  not  un- 
dei'stand  me,  Justin.  You  talk  with  no  com- 
prehension of  myself  or  of  the  event.  Six 
months  from  now,  if  all  goes  well,  you  will 
see  that  I  have  been  kind,  not  cruel.  I  can  not 
say  any  more;  I  should  not  have  said  so  much. 
Go  back,  dear  friend,  and  let  me  take  the  train 
wdth  Harry.  The  sea  is  not  impassable.  We 
shall  meet  again,  and  then — "  Did  she  pause 
to  look  behind  her  do^\TL  those  steps — to  make 
some  gesture  of  caution  to  the  uneasy  child  ? 
— ^'you  will  forgive  me  for  what  seems  cruelty 
to  you  now.  I  can  not  do  differently.  With 
all  the  world  weeping  over  the  doubtful  fate 
of  this  little  child,  you  can  not  expect  me  to — 
to  make  any  promise  conditional  upon  her 
deatlir 

The  man's  cry  drove  the  irony  of  the  situa- 
tion out  of  my  mind. 

^Tuerilities !  all  puerilities.  A  man's  life — 
319 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

soul — are  worth  some  sacrifices.  If  you  loved 
me — ''  A  quick  ingathering  of  his  breath, 
then  a  low  moan,  then  the  irrepressible  cry  she 
vainly  nought  to  hush,  ^'0  Valerie,  you  are  si- 
lent! You  do  not  love  me!  Two  years  of 
suffering!  two  years  of  repression,  then  this 
delirium  of  hope,  of  possibility,  and  you  si- 
lent! I  will  trouble  you  no  more.  Gwendo- 
len alive  or  Gwendolen  dead,  what  is  it  to  me  I 
I— '^ 

"Hush !  there  is  no  doubt  on  that  topic ;  the 
child  is  dead.  Let  that  be  imderstood  between 
us."  This  was  whispered,  and  whispered  very 
low,  but  the  air  seemed  breathless  at  that  mo- 
ment and  I  heard  her.  "This  is  my  last  word 
to  you.  You  will  have  your  fortune,  whether 
you  have  my  love  or  not  Remember  that, 
and—" 

"Auntie,  make  Dinah  move  away;  I  want 
to  see  the  man  you  are  talking  to." 

Gwendolen  had  spoken. 


32a 


XXIII 

A    COEAL    BEAD 

''What's  that?" 

It  was  Mr.  Rathbone  who  first  found  voioeu 

"To  what  a  state  have  I  come  when  in  ev- 
ery woman's  face,  even  in  hers  who  is  dearest, 
I  see  expressions  I  no  longer  understand,  and 
in  every  child's  voice  catch  the  sound  of  Gwen- 
dolen's ?" 

"Hariy's  voice  is  not  like  Gwendolen's," 
came  in  desperate  protest  from  the  ready  wid- 
ow. A  daring  assertion  for  her  to  make  to 
him  who  had  often  held  this  child  in  his  arms 
for  houi^  together.  "You  are  not  yourself, 
Justin.  I  am  sorry.  I — I — "  Almost  she 
gave  her  promise,  almost  she  risked  her  future, 
possibly  his,  by  saying,  under  the  stress  of  her 
fears,  what  her  heart  did  not  prompt  her  to, 
when — 

A  quick  move  on  her  part,  a  low  cry  on  his, 
and  he  came  rushing  up  the  steps. 

I  had  advanced  at  her  hesitating  words  and 
shown  myself. 

321 


THE  MILLIONAIUE  BABY 

\Vlien  Mj.  HathboDe  wo  well  up  the  ter- 
noo  (he  hardlj  hoaorsd  mo  with  i  look  as  he 
went  by),  I  slowly  began  mj  descent  to  where 
she  hUkkI  witii  her  back  toward  nio  and  her 
amiB  thrown  round  the  ciiild  she  had  evident- 
ly calloil  t(»  her  in  Imt  anxiety  to  oonoeal  Uio 
little  beaming  face  from  tliin  new  intruder. 

Tliat  Hhe  had  not  looked  as  high  as  my  face 
I  felt  oiMured ;  tlut  tlie  would  not  show  me 
hers  unlf<H  I  forctNl  her  t<» •  1  equally  cer- 
tain. Every  step  1  U^-k  «!  .1  was  cunse- 
quentl^'  of  moment  t**  :  1  .undered  how 
I  should  come  out  of  this;  what  slie  would  do; 
what  I  mx-self  tshould  nMy.  The  bold  course 
commended  itttelf  to  mo.  No  mortj  circumlo- 
cutiou ;  no  mort^  d»»iibtful  playing  of  the  game 
with  this  woman.  1  would  take  the  bull  by 
the  horns  and — 

I  had  reaehetl  the  step  on  whidi  she  crouched. 
I  could  catch  sight  of  the  child's  eyes  over  her 
shoulder,  a  shoulder  that  quivered — was  it  with 
the  storm  of  the  last  inter\-iew,  or  with  her 
fear  of  tliis?     I  would  sea 

Pausing,  I  said  to  her  with  every  appear- 
ance of  respect,  but  in  my  most  matter-of-fact 
tones: 

322 


A  CORAL  BEAD 

"Mrs.   Carew,  may  I  requ«t  yon  to  sev.d 
.vendolendowntothegirllseebebwAerel 

have  eomethiug  to  say  to  you  before  you 


ave." 


Gwendolen!  , 

With  a  start  which  showed  how  completely 

,e  .as  taten  by  surprise,  Mrs.  Carew  r<^^ 

:Ue  may  have    recognized  my   vo.c*   and  s^a 

,ay  not;  it  is  hard  to  decide  m  such  an  act^ 

.Vhether  she  did  or  not,  she  turned  w:th  a 
fro^vn,  which  gave  way  to  a  rav.sh.ng  sm>le  as 
her  eyes  met  my  face. 

"Your  she  said,  and  wiU.out  any  betray^ 
al  in  voice  or  gesture  that  she  recognoj 
It  her  hopes,  and  U.ose  of  the  friend  to  whc«e 

safety  she  had  already  sacrificed  so  much,  had 
LLived  their  death-blow,  she  gave  a  qu^ 

order  to  tl.e  girl  who,  taking  the  chUd  by  the 
hand,  sat  down  on  the  steps  Mrs.  Carew  now 

.uittLd    and   laid   herself   out  to  be   amu.ng^ 
Gravely  Mrs.  Carew  confronted  me  on  the 

terrace  below. 

^'Explain,"  said  she. 

"I  have  just  come  from  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,    I 

replied. 

The  veiled  head  dropped  a  triile. 

323 


THiU  MILLIOXAIRE  BABY 

'^She  could  not  sustain  herself!  So  all  is 
lost?" 

"That  depends.  But  I  must  request  you  not 
to  leave  the  country  till  Mr.  Ocumpaugh  r&- 
tums.'^ 

The  flash  of  her  eye  startled  me.  "Who  can 
detain  me,"  she  cried,  "if  I  wish  to  go?" 

I  did  not  answer  in  kind.  I  had  no  wish 
to  rouse  this  woman's  opposition. 

"I  do  not  think  you  wiU  want  to  go  when 
you  remember  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's  condition. 
Would  you  leave  her  to  bear  the  full  burden 
of  this  deception  alone  ?  She  is  a  broken 
woman.  Her  full  story  is  known  to  me.  I 
have  the  profoundest  sympathy  for  her.  She 
has  only  three  days  in  which  to  decide  upon  her 
course.  I  have  advised  her  to  tell  the  whole 
truth  to  her  husband." 

"You!" 

The  word  was  but  a  breath,  but  I  heard  it 
Yet  I  felt  no  resentment  against  this  womaiL 
Xo  one  could,  under  the  spell  of  so  much  spir- 
it and  grace. 

"Did  I  not  advise  her  right  ?" 

"Perhaps,    but    you    must    not    detain    me. 
You  must  do  nothing  to  separate  me  from  this 
324 


A  CORAL  BEAD 

child.  I  will  not  bear  it.  I  have  experienced 
for  days  now  what  motherhood  might  be,  and 
nothing  on  earth  shall  rob  me  of  my  present 
rights  in  this  child."  Then  as  she  met  my  un- 
moved countenance:  ^'If  you  know  Mrs. 
Ocumpaugh's  whole  history,  you  kno\^  that 
neither  she  nor  her  husband  has  any  real  claim 
on  thb  child." 

^'In  that  you  are  mistaken,"  I  quickly  pro- 
tested. ''Six  years  of  care  and  affection  such 
as  they  have  bestowed  on  Gwendolen,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  substantial  form  which  these 
have  taken  from  tlie  first,  constitute  a  claim 
which  all  the  world  must  recog-nize,  if  you  do 
not  Think  of  Mr.  Ocumpaugh's  belief  in  her 
relation  to  him !  Think  of  the  shock  which 
awaits  him,  when  he  learns  that  she  is  not  of 
his  blood  and  lineage!" 

"I  know,  I  know."  Her  fingers  worked  ner- 
vously; the  woman  was  showing  through  the 
actress.  "But  I  will  not  give  up  the  child. 
Ask  anything  but  that." 

"Madam,  I  have  had  the  honor  so  far  to 
make  but  one  requirement — that  you  do  not 
carry  the  child  out  of  the  country — yet." 

As  I  uttered  this  ultimatum,  some  influence, 
325 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY, 

acting  equally  upon  both,  caused  us  to  turn 
in  the  direction  of  the  river;  possibly  an  ap- 
prehension lest  some  word  of  this  conversa- 
tion might  be  overheard  by  the  child  or  the 
nurse.  A  surprise  awaited  us  which  effectu- 
ally prevented  Mrs.  Carew's  reply.  In  the 
corner  of  the  Ocumpaugh  grounds  stood  a  man 
staring  with  all  his  eyes  at  the  so-called  little 
Harry.  An  expression  of  doubt  was  on  his 
face.  I  knew  the  minute  to  be  critical  and  was 
determined  to  make  the  most  of  it. 

"Do  you  know  that  man?"  I  whispered  to 
Mrs.  Carew. 

The    answer    was    brief    but    suggestive    of 
alarm. 

^'Yes,  one  of  the  gardeners  over  there — one 
of  whom  Gwendolen  is  especially  fond." 

^^She's  the  one  to  fear,  then.     Engage  hia 
attention  while  I  divert  hers." 

All  this   in  a  whisper  while  the  man  was 
summoning  up  courage  to  speak. 

^^A  pretty  child,"  he  stammered,  as  Mrs. 
Carew  advanced  toward  him  smiling.  "Is  that 
your  little  nephew  IVe  heard  them  tell  about? 
Seems  to  me  he  looks  like  our  own  little  lost 
one;  only  darker  and  sturdier." 
326 


A  COKAL  BEAD 

"Much  sturdier/'  I  heard  her  say  as  I  made 
haste  to  accost  tlie  child. 

"Harry/'  I  cried,  recalling  my  old  address 
when  I  was  in  training  for  a  gentleman ;  "your 
aunt  is  in  a  hurry.  The  cars  are  coming; 
don't  you  hear  the  whistle?  Will  you  trust 
yourself  to  me  ?  Let  me  carry  you — I  mean 
pick-a-back,  while  we  run  for  the  train.'' 

The  sweet  eyes  looked  up — it  was  fortimate 
for  Mrs.  Carew  that  no  one  but  myself  had 
ever  got  near  enough  to  see  those  eyes  or  she 
could  hardly  have  kept  her  secret — and  at  first 
slowly,  then  with  instinctive  trust,  the  little 
arms  rose  and  I  caught  her  to  my  breast,  tak- 
ing care  as  I  did  so  to  turn  her  quite  away 
from  the  man  whom  Mrs.  Carew  wa3  about 
leaving. 

"Come!"  I  shouted  back,  "we  shall  be 
late!" — and  made  a  dash  for  the  gate. 

Mrs.  Carew  joined  me,  and  none  of  us  said 
anything  till  we  reached  the  station  platform. 
Then  as  I  set  the  child  do^^Tl,  I  gave  her  one 
look.     She  was  beaming  with  gratitude. 

"That  saved  us,  together  with  tlie  few  words 
I  could  edge  in  between  his  loud  regrets  at  my 
going  and  his  exclamations  of  grief  over  Gwen- 

837 


THE  MILLIOIS^AIRE  BABY 

dolen's  loss.  On  the  train  I  shall  fear  notli- 
ing.  If  you  will  lift  him  up  I  will  wrap  him 
in  this  shawl  as  if  he  were  ill.  Once  in  ]^ew 
York — are  you  not  going  to  permit  me?'^ 

^'To  go  to  Xew  York,  yes;  but  not  to  the 
steamer." 

She  showed  anger,  but  also  an  admirable 
self-control.  Far  off  we  could  cat-ch  the  sound- 
ing tlirill  of  the  approaching  train. 

•'I  yield,"  she  announced  suddenly.  And 
opening  the  bag  at  her  side,  she  fumbled  in 
it  for  a  card  which  she  presently  put  in  my 
hand.  ^'T  was  going  there  for  lunch,''  she  ex- 
plained. ^^Xow  I  will  take  a  room  and  re- 
main until  I  hear  from  you."  Here  she  gave 
me  a  quick  look.  ^'You  do  not  appear  satis- 
fied." 

"Yes,  yes,"  I  stammered,  as  I  looked  at  the 
card  and  saw  her  name  over  that  of  an  in- 
conspicuous hotel  in  the  do^m-town  portion  of 
Xew  York  City.     "I  merely — " 

The  nearing  of  the  train  gave  me  the  op- 
portunity of  cutting  shoit  the  sentence  I  should 
have  found  it  difficult  to  finish. 

"Here   is    the   child,"    I   exclaimed,    lifting 
the   little   one,    whom   she   immediately  envel- 
3g8 


I 


A  CORAL  BEAD 

oped   in    the    light   but   ample   wrap   she   had 
chosen  as  a  disguise. 

'^Good-by— Harrv." 

^*Good-bjI  I  like  you.  Your  arms  are 
strong  and  you  don't  shake  me  when  you  iiin." 

Mrs.  Carew  smiled.  There  was  deep  emo- 
tion in  her  face.  ''Au  re  voir  T'  she  murmured 
in  a  tone  implying  promise.  Happily  I  un- 
derstood the  French  phrase. 

I  bowed  and  drew  back.  Was  I  ^rrong  in 
letting  her  slip  from  my  surveillance?  The 
agitation  I  probably  showed  must  have  caused 
her  some  thought.  But  she  would  have  been 
more  than  a  diviner  of  mysteries  to  have  un- 
derstood its  cause.  Her  bag,  when  she  had 
opened  it  before  my  eyes,  had  revealed  among 
its  contents  a  string  of  remarkable  corals.  A 
bead  similar  in  shape,  color  and  marking  rest- 
ed at  that  very  moment  over  my  own  heart 
Was  that  necklace  one  bead  short?  With  a 
start  of  conviction  I  began  to  believe  so  and 
that  I  was  the  man  who  could  complete  it  If 
that  was  so — why,  then — then — 

It  isn't  often  that  a  detective's  brain  reels — 
but  mine  did  then. 

The  train  began  to  move — 
329 


THE  MILLIOIS^AIKE  BABY 

This  discovery,  the  greatest  of  all^  if  I  were 
right,  would — 

I  had  no  more  time  to  think. 

Instinctively,  with  a  quick  jump,  I  made 
mj  place  good  on  the  rear  car. 


380 


XXIV 

"shall  I  GIVE  HIM  MY  WORD,   HAEET  ?^' 

I  did  not  go  all  the  way  to  Xew  York  on  the 
train  which  Mrs.  Carew  and  the  child  had  taken. 
I  went  only  as  far  as  Yonkers. 

When  I  reached  Doctor  Pool's  house,  I 
thought  it  entirely  empty.  Even  the  office 
seemed  closed.  But  appearances  here  could 
not  always  be  trusted,  and  I  rang  the  bell  with 
a  vigor  which  must  have  awakened  echoes  in 
the  uninhabited  upper  stories.  I  know  that  it 
brought  the  doctor  to  the  door,  and  in  a  state 
of  doubtful  amiability.  But  when  he  saw  who 
awaited  him,  his  appearance  changed  and  he 
welcomed  me  in  with  a  smile  or  what  was 
as  nearly  like  one  as  his  austere  nature  would 
permit. 

^^How  now!  Want  your  money?  Seems  to 
me  you  have  earned  it  with  unexpected  ease.'' 

''Xot  such  great  ease,"  I  replied,  as  he  care- 
fully closed  the  door  and  locked  it.  ''I  know 
that  I  feel  as  tired  as  I  ever  did  in  my  life. 


THE  millio:n'aiee  baby 

The  child  is  in  Xew  York  under  the  guardian- 
ship of  a  woman  who  is  reallj  fond  of  her. 
You  can  dismiss  all  care  concerning  her." 

"I  see — and  who  is  the  woman  ?  Name  her.'^ 

"You  do  not  trust  me,  I  see.'' 

"I  trust  no  one  in  business  matters." 

"This  is  not  a  business  matter — ^yet" 

"What  do  jou  mean?" 

"I  have  not  asked  for  money.  I  am  not 
going  to  till  I  can  perfectly  satisfy  you  that 
all  deception  is  at  an  end  so  far  as  Mr.  Ocum- 
paugh  at  least  is  concerned." 

"Oh,  you  would  play  fair,  I  see." 

I  was  too  interested  in  noting  how  each  of 
his  hands  involuntarily  closed  on  itself,  in  his 
relief  at  not  being  called  upon  to  part  with 
some  of  his  hoardings,  to  answer  with  aught 
but  a  nod. 

"You  have  your  reasons  for  keeping  close, 
of  course,"  he  growled  as  he  led  the  way  to- 
ward the  basement  stairs.  "You're  not  out  of 
the  woods,  is  that  it?  Or  has  the  great  lady 
bargained  with  you? — Um?  Um?" 

He  threw  the  latter  ejaculations  back  over 
his  shoulder  as  he  descended  to  the  office. 
They  displeased  me,  and  I  made  no  attempt  to 

§33 


"SHALL  I  GIVE  HIM  MY  WORD?^' 

reply.  In  fact,  I  had  no  reply  ready.  Had 
I  bargained  with  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh?  Hardly. 
Yet>~ 

"She  is  handsome  enough/^  the  old  man 
broke  in  sharply,  cutting  in  two  my  self-com- 
munings.  "You're  a  fellow  of  some  stamina, 
if  you  have  got  at  her  secret  without  making 
her  a  promise.  So  the  child  is  well!  That's 
good!  There's  one  long  black  mark  eliminated 
from  my  account.  But  I  have  not  closed  the 
book,  and  I  am  not  going  to,  till  my  conscience 
has  nothing  more  to  regret  It  is  not  enough 
that  the  child  is  handed  over  to  a  different 
life;  the  fortunes  that  have  been  bequeathed 
her  must  be  given  to  him  who  would  have 
inherited  them  had  this  child  not  been  taken 
for  a  veritable  Ocumpaugh." 

"That  raises  a  nice  point,"   I  said. 

"But  one  that  will  drag  all  false  things  to 
light." 

"Your  action  in  the  matter  along  with  the 
rest,"  I  suggested. 

"True !  but  do  you  think  I  shall  stop  because 
of  that?" 

He  did  not  look  as  if  he  would  stop  because  of 
anything. 


THE  millio:n"aiee  baby 

^'Do  you  not  think  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  worthy 
some  pity  ?  Her  future  is  a  ghastly  one,  whieh- 
ever  way  you  look  at  it." 

"She  sinned,"  was  his  uncompromising  re- 
ply.    "The  wages  of  sin  is  death." 

"But  such  death!"  I  protested;  "death  of 
the  heart,   which   is   the  worst  death  of  all." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  leading  the  way 
into  the  office. 

"Let  her  beware !"  he  went  on  surlily.  "Last 
month  I  saw  my  duty  no  further  than  the 
exaction  of  this  child's  dismissal  from  the  home 
whose  benefits  she  enjoyed  under  a  false  nama 
To-day  I  am  led  further  by  the  inexorable 
guide  which  prompts  the  anxious  soul.  All 
that  was  wrong  must  be  made  good.  Mr. 
Ocumpaugh  must  know  on  whom  his  affec- 
tions have  been  lavished.  I  will  not  yield.  The 
woman  has  done  wrong;  and  she  shall  suffer 
for  it  till  she  rises,  a  redeemed  soul,  into  a  state 
of  mind  that  prefers  humiliation  to  a  continu- 
ance in  a  life  of  deception.  You  may  tell  her 
what  I  say — that  is,  if  you  enjoy  the  right  of 
conversation  with  her." 

The  look  he  shot  me  at  this  was  keen  as 
hate  and  spite  could  make  it     I  was  glad 
334 


"SHALL  I  GIVE  HIM  MY  WORD  V 

that  we  were  by  this  time  in  tlie  office,  and  that 
I  could  avoid  his  eye  by  a  quick  look  about  the 
well-remembered  place.  This  proof  of  the  vin- 
dictive pursuit  he  had  marked  out  for  himself 
was  no  surprise  to  me.  I  expected  no  less,  yet  it 
opened  up  difficulties  which  made  my  way,  as 
well  as  hers,  look  dreai*y  in  the  prospect.  He 
perceived  my  despondency  and  smiled;  then 
suddenly  changed  his   tone. 

^'You  do  not  ask  after  the  little  patient  I 
have  here.  Come,  Harry,  come;  here  is  some 
one  I  will  let  you  see.'^ 

The  door  of  my  old  room  swung  open  and 
I  do  not  know  which  surprised  me  most,  the 
kindness  in  the  rugged  old  voice  I  had  never 
before  heard  lifted  in  tenderness,  or  the  look 
of  confidence  and  joy  on  the  face  of  the  little 
boy  who  now  came  running  in.  So  inex- 
orable to  a  remorseful  and  suffering  woman, 
and  so  full  of  consideration  for  a  stranger's 
child! 

^'Almost  well,"  pronounced  the  doctor,  and 
lifted  him  on  his  knee.  ^'Do  you  know  this 
child's  parentage  and  condition?"  he  sharply 
inquired,  with   a  quick  look  toward  me. 

I  saw  no  reason  for  not  telling  the  truth. 
335 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

"He  is  an  orphan,  and  was  destined  for  an 
institution." 

"Yon  know  this?" 

"Positively." 

"Then  I  shall  keep  the  child.  Harry,  will 
you  stay  with  me?" 

To  my  amazement  the  little  arms  crept 
round  his  neck.  A  smile  grim  enough,  in 
my  estimation,  but  not  at  all  frightful  to  the 
child,   responded  to  this   appeal. 

"I  did  not  like  the  old  man  and  woman," 
he  said. 

Doctor  Pool's  whole  manner  showed  tri- 
umph. "I  shall  treat  him  better  than  I  did 
you,"  he  remarked.  "I  am  a  regenerate  man 
now." 

I  bowed;  I  was  very  uneasy;  there  was  a 
question  I  wanted  to  ask  and  could  not  in  the 
presence  of  this  child. 

"He  is  hardly  of  an  age  to  take  my  place," 
I  observed,  still  under  tlie  spell  of  my  sur- 
prise, for  the  child  was  handling  the  old  man's 
long  beard,  and  seeming  almost  as  happy  as 
Gwendolen  did  in  Mrs.  Carew's  arms. 

"He  wiU  have  one  of  his  own,"   was  the 
doctor^s  unexpected   reply. 
336 


"SHALL  I  GIVE  HIM  MY  WORD  r 

I  rosa  I  saw  that  he  did  not  intend  to 
dismiss  the  child. 

''I  should  like  jour  word,  in  return  for  the 
relief  I  have  undoubtedly  brought  you,  that 
you  will  not  molest  certain  partial  till  the 
three  days  are  up  which  I  have  mentioned  as 
the   limit  of  my  own   silence.'' 

"Shall  I  give  him  my  word,    Harry?" 

The  child,  startled  by  the  abrupt  address, 
drew  his  fingers  from  the  long  beard  he  was 
playfully  stroking  and,  eyeing  me  with  elfish 
gravity,  seemed  to  ponder  the  question  as  if 
some  comprehension  of  its  importance  had 
found  entrance  into  his  small  brain.  An- 
noyed at  the  doctor's  whim,  yet  trusting  to 
the  child's  intuition,  I  waited  with  inner  anx- 
iety for  what  those  small  lips  would  say,  and 
felt  an  infinite  relief,  even  if  I  did  not  show 
it,  when  he  finally  uttered  a  faint  "Yes,"  and 
hid  his  face  again  on  the  doctor's  breast 

My  last  remembrance  of  them  both  was  the 
picture  they  made  as  the  doctor  closed  the 
door  upon  me,  with  the  sweet,  confiding  child 
still   clasped   in   his   arms. 


337 


XXV 

THE   WOEK    OF    AN    INSTANT 

I  did  not  take  the  car  at  the  comer.  I 
was  sure  that  Jupp  was  somewhere  around, 
and  I  had  a  new  mission  for  him  of  more  im- 
portance than  any  he  could  find  here  now.  I 
was  just  looking  about  for  him  when  I  heard 
cries  and  screams  at  my  back,  and,  turning, 
saw  several  persons  all  running  one  way.  As 
that  way  was  the  one  by  which  I  had  just  come^ 
I  commenced  running  too,  and  in  another  mo- 
ment was  one  of  a  crowd  collected  before  the 
doctor's  door.  I  mean  the  great  front  door 
which,  to  my  astonishment,  I  had  already 
seen  was  wide  open.  The  sight  which  there 
met  my  eyes  almost  paralyzed  me. 

Stretched  on  the  pavement,  spotted  with 
blood,  lay  the  two  figures  I  had  seen  within 
the  last  five  minutes  beaming  with  life  and 
energy.  The  old  man  was  dead,  the  child  dy- 
ing, one  little  hand  outstretched  as  if  in  search 
of  the  sympathetic  touch  which  had  made  the 
338 


THE  WOHK  OF  A:^  IXSTAKT 

last  few  hours  perhaps  tlie  sweetest  of  his  life. 
How  had  it  happened  ?  Was  it  suicide  on  the 
doctor's  part  or  just  pure  accident?  Either 
way  it  was  horrible,  but — I  looked  about  me; 
there  was  a  man  ready  to  give  explanations. 
He  had  seen  it  all.  The  doctor  had  been  rac- 
ing with  the  child  in  the  long  hall.  He  had 
opened  the  door,  probably  for  air.  A  sudden 
dash  of  the  child  had  brought  him  to  the 
verge,  the  doctor  had  plunged  to  save  him,  and 
losing  his  balance  toppled  headlong  to  the 
street,  carrying  the  child  with  him. 

It  was  all  the  work  of  an  instant 

One  moment  two  vigorous  figures — the  next, 
a  mass  of  ciiished  humanity! 

A  sight  to  stagger  a  man's  soul!  But  the 
thought  which  came  with  it  staggered  me  still 
more. 

The  force  which  had  been  driving  Airs. 
Ocumpaugh  to  her  fate  was  removed.  Hence- 
forth her  secret  was  safe  if — if  I  chose  to 
have  it  so. 


339 


XXVI 

''he  WnX  ITEVEK  FOBGIVE  " 

1  WIS  wBfldng  awa J  when  a  man  tonched 
WMR,  Same  one  had  seen  me  come  from  the 
doetor's  office  a  few  minntes  before.  Of  eooise 
diia  meant  d^enti<m  till  the  eoioner  sboold  ar- 
rive.  I  qoarreled  with  die  cireomstanoes  but 
fdt  forced  to  submit  Hfippilj  Jupp  now  came 
to  the  front  and  I  was  able  to  send  Lim  to 
ITew  Yofk  to  keep  that  watch  over  Mrs.  Carew, 
withoat  which  I  eonld  not  hare  retted  quiet 
an  hour.  One  gieat  ekment  of  danger  was 
vranoved  most  remaifcahlj,  if  not  proridentially, 
iiQm  the  path  I  had  maiiced  out  for  myself; 
bat  thoe  still  remained  that  of  this  woman's 
poKible  impnlaes  nnder  her  great  determina- 
lion  to  ke^  Gfwraidokn  in  her  own  care.  But 
with  Jupp  to  watch  the  dodk,  and  a  mim  fn 
^ain  dodieB  at  the  door  of  the  small  hotd 
dbe  was  at  pre&eui  bound  for,  I  thought  I 
mi^it  remain  in  Yonkers  contaDt&dly  the  whole 

iMJ. 

S40 


^^HE  WILL  NEVER  FORGIVE  '' 

It  was  not,  however,  till  late  the  next  after- 
noon that  I  found  myself  again  in  Homewood. 
I  had  heard  from  Jupp.  The  steamer  had 
sailed,  but  without  two  passengers  who  had 
been  booked  for  the  voyage.  Mrs.  Carew  and 
the  child  were  still  at  the  address  she  had 
given  me.  All  looked  well  in  that  direction; 
but  what  was  the  aspect  of  affairs  in  Home- 
wood  ?  I  trembled  in  some  anticipation  of  what 
these  many  hours  of  bitter  thought  might  have 
effected  in  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh.  Evidently  noth- 
ing to  lessen  the  gloom  into  which  the  whole 
household  had  now  fallen.  Miss  Porter,  who 
came  in  haste  to  greet  me,  wore  the  c-areworn 
look  of  a  long  and  unrelieved  vigil.  I  was  not 
astonished  when  she  told  me  that  she  had  not 
slept  a  wink. 

"How  could  I,"  she  asked,  "when  Mrs. 
Ocumpaugh  did  not  close  her  eyes?  She  did 
lot  even  lie  down,  but  sat  all  night  in  an 
arm-chair  which  she  had  wheeled  into  Gwendo- 
len's room,  staring  like  one  who  sees  nothing 
out  into  the  night  through  the  window  which 
overlooks  the  river.  This  morning  w^e  can 
not  make  her  speak.  Her  eyes  are  dry  with 
fever;  only  now  and  then  she  utters  a  little 

HI 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

moan.  The  doctor  says  she  will  not  live  to 
see  her  husband,  unless  something  comes  to 
rouse  her.  But  the  papers  give  no  news,  and 
all  the  attempts  of  the  police  end  in  nothing. 
You  saw  what  a  dismal  failure  their  last  at- 
tempt was.  The  child  on  which  they  counted 
proved  to  be  both  red-haired  and  pock-marked. 
Gwendolen  appears  to  be  lost,  lost.'' 

In  spite  of  the  despair  thus  expressed  my 
way  seemed  to  open  a  little. 

"I  think  I  can  break  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's 
dangerous  apathy  if  you  will  let  me  see  her 
again.      Will  you   let  me   try?" 

"The  nurse — we  have  a  nurse  now — will  not 
consent,   I  fear." 

^Then  telephone  to  the  doctor.  Tell  him 
I  am  the  only  man  who  can  do  anything  for 
Mrs.  Ocumpaugh.  This  will  not  be  an  ex- 
aggeration." 

"Wait!      I   will   get  his  order.      I   do   not 
know  why  I  have  so  much  confidence  in  you." 
In  another  fifteen  minutes  she  came  to  lead 
me  to  Mrs.    Ocumpaugh. 

I  ent^ed  without  knocking;   they  told  me 
to.     She  was  seated,  as  they  said,  in  a  large 
chair,  but  with  no  ease  to  herself;  for  she  was 
342 


^^HE  WILL  XEVER  FORGIVE  " 

not  even  leaning  against  its  back,  but  sat  with 
body  strained  forward  and  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ripple  of  the  great  river  where,  from  what 
she  had  intimated  to  me  in  our  last  inter- 
view, she  probably  saw  her  grave.  There  was 
a  miniature  in  her  hand,  but  I  saw  at  first 
glance  that  it  was  not  the  face  of  Gwendolen 
over  which  her  fingers  closed  so  spasmodically. 
It  was  her  husband's  portrait  which  she  held, 
and  it  was  his  face,  aroused  and  full  of  de- 
nunciation, which  she  evidently  saw  in  her 
fancy  as  I  drew  nearer  her  in  my  efforts  to 
attract  her  attention;  for  a  shiver  suddenly 
contracted  her  lovely  features  and  she  threw 
her  arms  out  as  if  to  ward  from  herself  some- 
thing which  she  had  no  power  to  meet.  In 
doing  this  her  head  turned  slightly  and  she 
saw  me. 

Instantly  the  spell  under  which  she  sat  frozen 
yielded  to  a  recognition  of  something  besides 
her  own  terrible  brooding.  She  let  her  arms 
drop,  and  the  lips  which  had  not  spoken  that 
morning  moved  slightly.  I  waited  respect- 
fully. I  saw  that  in  another  moment  she 
would  speak. 

"You  have  come,"  she  panted  out  at  last, 

343 


THE  MILLIOXAIKE  BABY 

"to  hear  mj  decision.  It  is  too  soon.  The 
steamer  has  twenty-four  hours  yet  before  it 
can  make  port.  I  have  not  finished  weighing 
my  life  against  the  good  opinion  of  him  I  live 
for."   Then  faintly — ''Mrs.   Carew  has  gone.'* 

'To  Xew  York/'*  I  finished. 

"Xo  farther  than  that  ?"  she  asked  anxiously. 
"She  has  not  sailed  ?" 

"I  did  not  see  how  it  was  compatible  with 
my  duty  to  let  her." 

Mrs.  Ocumpaugh's  whole  form  collapsed; 
the  dangerous  apathy  was  creeping  over  her 
again.  "You  are  deciding  for  me/' — she  spoke 
very  faintly — "you   and  Doctor  Pool." 

Should  I  tell  her  that  Doctor  Pool  was  dead? 
ISTo,  not  jet  I  wanted  her  to  choose  the  noble 
course  for  Mr.  Ocumpaugh's  sake — ^yes,  and 
for  her  owm 

"Xo,"  I  ventured  to  rejoin.  "You  are  the 
only  one  who  can  settle  your  own  fate.  The 
word  must  come  from  you.  I  am  only  trying 
to  make  it  possible  for  you  to  meet  your  hus- 
band without  any  additional  wrong  to  blunt 
his  possible  forgiveness." 

"Oh,  he  will  never  forgive — and  I  have  lost 

344 


*^HE  WILL  XEVER  FORGIVE  '^ 

And  the  set  look  returned  in  its  full  force. 

I  made  mj  final  attempt, 

"Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,  we  may  never  Lave  an- 
other moment  together  in  confidence.  There 
is  one  tihing  I  have  never  told  you,  something 
which  I  think  you  ought  to  know,  as  it  may 
affect  your  whole  future  course.  It  concerns 
Gwendolen's  real  mother.  You  say  you  do 
not  know  her." 

"No,  no;  do  not  bring  up  that.  I  do  not 
want  to  know  her.  My  darling  is  happy  with 
Mrs.  Carew — too  happy.  0  God!  Give  me 
no  opportunity  for  disturbing  that  content- 
ment. Don't  you  see  that  I  am  consumed  with. 
jealousy?     That  I  might — " 

She  was  roused  enough  now,  cheek  and  lip 
and  brow  were  red ;  even  her  eyes  looked 
blood-shot  Alarmed,  I  put  out  my  hand  in 
a  soothing  gesture,  and  when  her  voice  stopped 
and  her  words  trailed  off  into  an  inarticulate 
murmur  I  made  haste  to  say: 

"Listen  to  my  little  story.  It  vnll  not  add 
to  your  pain,  rather  alleviate  it  Wlien  I  hid 
behind  the  curtain  on  that  day  we  all  regret, 
I  did  not  slip  from  my  post  at  your  departure. 
I  knew  that  another  patient  awaited  the  doc- 
345 


THE  MILLION AIEE  BABY 

tors  convenience  in  my  own  small  room,  where 
he  had  hastily  seated  her  when  your  carriage 
drove  up.  I  also  kne^v  that  this  patient  had 
overheard  what  you  said  as  well  as  I,  for  im- 
pervious as  the  door  looked  I  had  often  heard 
the  doctor's  mutterings  when  he  thought  I  was 
safe  beyond  ear-shot,  if  not  asleep.  And  I 
wanted  to  see  how  she  would  act  when  she  re- 
joined the  doctor;  for  I  had  heard  a  little 
of  what  she  had  said  before,  and  was  quite 
aware  that  she  could  help  you  out  of  your 
difficulty  if  she  wished.  She  was  a  married 
woman,  or  rather  had  been,  but  she  had  no 
use  for  a  child,  being  very  poor  and  anxious 
to  earn  her  own  living.  Would  she  embrace 
this  opportunity  to  part  with  it  when  it  came? 
You  may  imagine  my  interest,  boy  though  I 
was.'' 

"And  did  she?     Was  she—'' 

"Yes.  She  was  ready  to  make  her  compact 
with  the  doctor  just  as  you  had  done.  Before 
she  left  everything  was  arranged  for.  It  was 
her  child  you  took — reared — loved — and  have 
now  lost." 

At  another  time  she  might  have  resented 
these  words,  especially  the  last;  but  I  had 
346 


*'HE  WILL  XEVER  FORGIVE  " 

roused  her  curiosity,  her  panting  eager  curi- 
osity, and  she  let  them  pass  altogether  unchal- 
lenged. 

^'Did  you  see  this  woman  ?  Was  she  of 
common  blood,  common  manners  ?  It  does  not 
seem  possible — Gwendolen  is  by  nature  so 
dainty  in   all   her   ways." 

"The  woman  was  a  lady.  I  did  not  see  her 
face,  it  was  heavily  veiled,  but  I  heard  her 
voice;  it  was  a  lady's  voice  and — '* 

'^Whatr 

''She  wore  beautiful  jewels.'^ 

"Jewels  ?     You  said  she  was  poor." 

"So  she  declared  herself,  but  she  had  on  her 
neck  under  her  coat  a  string  of  beads  which 
were  both  valuable  and  of  exquisite  workman- 
ship. I  know,  because  it  broke  just  as  she 
was  leaving,  and  the  beads  fell  all  over  the 
floor,  and  one  rolled  my  way  and  I  picked  it 
up,  scamp  that  I  was,  when  both  their  backs 
were  turned  in  their  search  for  the  others." 

"A  bead — a  costly  bead — and  you  were  not 
found  out?" 

"!N'o,  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,  she  never  seemed 
to  miss  it  She  was  too  excited  over  what  she 
had  just  done  to  count  correctly.     She  thought 

34T 


THE   MILLIOIN^AIEE  BABY 

sLe  had  them  all.  But  this  has  been  in  my 
pocket  for  six  years.  Perhaps  you  have  seen 
its  like;  I  never  have,  in  jeweler's  shop  or 
elsewhere,  till  yesterday." 

"Yesterday  ?''  Her  great  eyes,  haggard  with 
suffering,  rose  to  mine,  then  they  fell  on  the 
bead  which  I  had  taken  from  my  pocket.  The 
cry  she  gave  was  not  loud,  but  it  effectually  set- 
tled all  my  doubts. 

"What  did  you  know  of  Mrs.  Carew  before 
she  came  to ?"  I  asked  impressively. 

Eor  minutes  she  did  not  answer;  she  was 
trembling  like  a  leaf. 

"Her  mother!"  she  exclaimed  at  last.  "Her 
mother !  her  own  mother !  And  she  never 
hinted  it  to  me  by  word  or  look.  Oh,  Valerie, 
Valerie,  what  tortures  we  have  both  suffered! 
and  now  you  are  happy  while  I — " 

Grief  seemed  to  engulf  her.  Feeling  my 
position  keenly,  I  walked  to  the  window,  but 
soon  turned  and  came  back  in  response  to  her 
cry:  "I  must  see  Mrs.  Carew  instantly.  Give 
my  orders.  I  will  start  at  once  to  I^ew  York. 
They  will  think  I  have  gone  to  be  on  hand 
to  meet  Mr.  Ocumpaugh,  and  will  say  that 
I  have  not  the  strength.  Override  their  ob- 
348 


^'HE  WILL  NEVER  EORGIVE'^ 

jections.  I  put  my  whole  cause  in  your  hands. 
You  will  go  with  me?" 

"With  pleasure,  madam." 

And  thus  was  that  terrifying  apathy  broken 
up,  to  be  succeeded  by  a  spell  of  equally  ter- 
rifying energy. 


849 


XXVII 

THE    riNAL     STEUQQLB 

She,  however,  did  not  get  off  that  night  I 
dared  not  push  the  matter  to  the  point  of 
awakening  suspicion,  and  when  the  doctor  said 
that  the  ship  was  not  due  for  twenty  hours 
and  that  it  would  be  madness  for  her  to  start 
without  a  night's  rest  and  two  or  three  good 
meals,  I  succumbed  and  she  also  to  the  few 
hours'  delay.  More  than  that,  she  consented 
to  retire,  and  when  I  joined  her  in  her  car- 
riage the  following  morning,  it  was  to  find 
her  physically  stronger,  even  if  the  mind  was 
still  a  prey  to  deepest  anguish  and  a  torturing 
indecision.  Her  nurse  accompanied  us  and 
the  maid  called  Celia,  so  conversation  was  im- 
possible— a  fact  I  did  not  know  whether  to 
be  thankful  for  or  not  On  the  cars  she  was 
shielded  as  much  as  possible  from  every  one's 
gaze,  and  when  we  reached  Xew  York  we  were 
driven  at  once  to  the  Plaza.  As  I  noticed  the 
respect  and  intense  sympathy  with  which  her 
350 


1 


^^^^ 


THE  FINAL  STRUGGLE 

presence  was  met  by  those  who  saw  nothing 
in  her  broken  aspect  but  a  mother's  immeas- 
urable grief,  I  wondered  at  the  secrets  which 
lie  deep  down  in  the  hearts  of  humanity,  and 
what  the  effect  would  be  if  I  should  sud- 
denly shout  aloud : 

"She  is  more  wretched  than  you  think. 
Her  suspense  is  one  that  the  child's  return 
would  not  appease.  Dig  deeper  into  mortal 
fear  and  woe  if  you  would  know  what  has 
changed  this  beautiful  woman  into  a  shadow 
in  five  days." 

And  I  myself  did  not  know  her  mind.  I 
could  neither  foresee  what  she  contemplated 
nor  what  the  effect  of  seeing  the  child  again 
would  have  upon  her.  I  only  knew  that  she 
must  never  for  a  moment  be  out  of  sight  of 
some  one  who  loved  her.  I  myself  never  left 
the  hall  upon  which  her  room  opened,  a  pre- 
caution for  which  I  felt  grateful  when,  late 
in  the  evening,  she  opened  the  door  and,  see^ 
ing  me,  stepped  out  fully  dressed  for  the  street. 

"Come  and  tell  Sister  Angelina  that  I  may 
be  trusted  with  you,"  she  said.  Sister  Angelina 
was  the  nurse. 

Of  course  I  did  as  she  bade  me,  and  after 
351 


THt:  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

some  few  more  difficulties  I  succeeded  in  get- 
ting her  into  a  carriage  without  attracting  any 
special  attention.  Once  there  she  breathed 
more  easily,  and  so  did  I. 

^^l^ow  take  me  to  her/'  she  said.  Whether 
she  meant  Mrs.  Carew  or  Gwendolen,  I  never 
knew. 

I  now  saw  that  the  hour  had  come  for  tell- 
ing her  tliat  she  no  longer  need  have  any  fear 
of  Doctor  Pool.  Whatever  she  contemplated 
must  be  done  with  a  true  knowledge  of  where 
she  stood  and  to  just  what  extent  her  secret 
remained  endangei^ed.  I  do  not  know  if  she 
felt  gTateful.  I  almost  think  that  for  the 
first  few  minutes  she  felt  rather  frightened 
than  relieved  to  find  herself  free  to  act  as  her 
wishes  and  the  presei^vation  of  her  place  in  her 
husband's  heart  and  the  world's  regard  im- 
pelled her.  For  she  never  for  a  moment 
seemed  to  doubt  that  now  the  doctor  was  gone 
I  would  yield  to  her  miseiy  and  prove  myself 
the  Iriend  she  had  begged  me  to  be  from  the 
first  She  turned  herself  toward  me  and  sought 
to  read  my  face,  but  it  was  rather  to  find  out 
what  I  expect£>d  of  her  than  whac  she  had  yet 
to  fear  from  me.  I  noted  this  and  muttered 
352 


THE  FINAL  STRUGGLE. 

some  ^ords  of  confidence;  but  her  mood  had 
already  changed,  and  they  fell  on  deaf  ears. 
I   T\-as   not  present   at  the   meeting  of   the 
.two   ^-omen.      That   is,    I   remained   in   ^hat 
thev  would  call  a  private  parlor,  while  Jlrs. 
Octmpaugh  passed  into  the  imier  room,  ^here 
she  knew  she  would  find  Mrs.  Carew  and  the 
child      Xor  did  I  hear  much.     Some   words 
came  through   the  partition.      I   caught  most 
of  Mrs    Carew's  explanation  of  how  she  came 
to  give  up  her  new-bom  child.     She  was  an 
actress  at  the  time  with  a  London  success  to 
her  credit,   but  with  no  hold   as  yet  m  this 
country.     She  was  booked  for  a  tour  the  com- 
ing season;  the  husband  who  might  have  seen 
to  the   child  was   dead;   she  had  no  friends, 
no  relatives  here  save  a  brother  poorer  than 
herself,    and    the    mother    instinct    had    not 
awakened.      She   bartered  her  child   away   as 
she  would  have  parted  with  any  other  encum- 
brance   likely    to    interfere   with    her    career. 
But— here   her   voice   rose    and   I   heard   dis- 
tinctly:     "A    fortune   was   suddenly   left   me. 
An  old  admirer  dying  abroad  bequeathed  me 
two  million  dollars,  and  I  found  myself  rich, 
admired  and  independent,  with  no  one  on  earth 
353 


THE  millio:n'aire  baby. 

to  care  for  or  to  share  the  happiness  of  what 
seemed  to  me,  after  the  brilliant  life  I  had 
hitherto  led,  a  dreary  inaction.  Love  had  no 
interest  for  me.  I  had  had  a  husband,  and  that 
paii:  of  my  nature  had  been  satisfied.  What. 
I  wanted  now — and  the  wish  presently  grew 
into  a  passion — was  my  child.  From  passion 
it  grew  to  mania.  Knowing  the  name  of  her 
to  whom  I  had  yielded  it  (I  had  overheard  it 
in  the  doctor's  office),  I  hunted  up  your  resi- 
dence  and   came   one   day   to   Homewood. 

"Perhaps  some  old  servant  can  be  found  there 
to-day  who  could  tell  you  of  the  strange,  deep- 
ly veiled  lady  who  was  found  one  eveming 
at  sunset,  clinging  to  the  gate  with  both  hands 
and  sobbing  as  she  looked  in  at  the  triumphant 
little  heiress  racing  up  and  do^vn  the  walks 
with  the  gTeat  mastiff,  Don.  They  will  say 
that  it  was  some  poor  crazy  woman,  or  some 
mother  who  had  buried  her  own  little  darling; 
but  it  was  I,  Marion,  it  was  I,  looking  upon 
the  child  I  had  sold  for  a  half-year's  inde- 
pendence; I  who  was  broken-hearted  now  for 
her  smiles  and  touches  and  saw  them  all  given 
to  strangers,  who  had  made  her  a  princess, 
but  who  could  never  give  her  such  love  as  3 
354 


THE  ri:N^AL  STEUGGLE. 

felt  for  her  then  in  my  madness.  I  went  away 
that  time,  but  I  came  again  soon  with  the  titles 
of  the  adjoining  property  in  my  pocket.  1 
could  not  keep  away  from  the  sight  of  her, 
and  felt  that  the  torture  would  be  less  to  see 
her  in  your  arms  than  not  to  see  her  at  all.'' 

The  answer  was  not  audible,  but  I  could 
well  imagine  what  it  was.  As  every  one  kne^7, 
the  false  mother  had  not  long  held  out  against 
the  attractions  of  the  true  one.  Instinct  had 
drawn  the  little  one  to  the  heart  that  beat  re- 
sponsive to  its  own. 

What  followed  I  could  best  judge  from  the 
frightened  cry  which  the  child  suddenly  gave. 
She  had  evidently  waked  to  find  botli  women 
at  her  bedside.  ITrs.  Carew^s  ''Hush!  hush!" 
did  not  answei  this  time;  the  child  w^as  in  a 
frenzy,  and  evidently  turned  from  one  to  the 
other,  sobbing  out  alternately,  ^'I  will  not  be 
a  girl  again.  1  like  my  horse  and  going  to  papa 
and  sailing  on  the  big  ocean,  in  ti^ousers  and 
a  little  cap,"  and  the  softer  phrases  she  evi- 
dently felt  better  suited  to  Mrs.  Oeumpaugh's 
deep  distress:  ''Don't  feel  bad,  i  lamma,  you 
shall  come  see  me  some  time.  Tj^pa  will  send 
for  you.  I  am  goii^g  to  him."  Then  silence^ 
355 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  BABY 

then  such,  a  struggle  of  woman-heart  with 
woman-heart  as  I  hope  never  to  be  witness 
to  again.  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  was  pleading  with 
Mrs.  Carew,  not  for  the  child,  but  for  her 
life.  Mr.  Ocumpaugh  would  be  in  port  the 
next  morning;  if  she  could  show  him  the  child 
all  would  be  well.  Mr.  Trevitt  would  man- 
age the  details ;  take  the  credit  of  having  foimd 
Gwendolen  somewhere  in  this  great  city,  and 
that  would  insure  him  the  reward  and  them 
his  silence.  (I  heard  this.)  There  was  no 
one  else  to  fear.  Doctor  Pool,  the  cause  of 
all  this  misery,  was  dead;  and  in  the  future, 
her  heart  being  set  to  rest  about  her  secret, 
she  would  be  happier  and  make  the  child  hap- 
pier, and  thej  could  enjoy  her  between  them, 
and  she  would  be  unselfish  and  let  Gwendolen 
spend  an  hour  or  more  every  day  with  Mrs. 
Carew,  on  some  such  plea  as  lessons  in  vocal- 
training  and  music. 

Thus   pleaded  Mrs.   Ocumpaugh. 

But  the  mother  hardly  listened.  She  ha<l 
eaten  with  the  child,  slept  with  the  child  and 
almost  breathed  with  the  child  for  three  days 
now,  and  the  ecstasy  of  the  experience  had 
blinded  her  to  any  other  claim  than  her  own- 
356 


THE  FINAL  STEUGGLE 

She  pitied  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh,  pitied  most  of 
all  her  deceived  husband,  but  no  grief  of  theirs 
could  equal  that  of  Rachel  crying  for  her  child. 
Let  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  remember  that  when  the 
evil  days  come.  She  had  separated  child  from 
mother  !  child  from  mother !  Oh,  how  the  wail 
swept  through  those  two  rooms ! 

I  dared  not  prophesy  to  myself  at  this  point 
how  this   would   end.      I   simply  waited. 

Their  voices  had  sunk  after  each  passionate 
outbreak,  and  I  was  only  able  to  catch  now 
and  then  a  word  which  told  me  that  the  strug- 
gle was  yet  going  on. 

But  finally  there  came  a  lull,  and  while  I 
wondered,  the  door  flew  suddenly  open  and 
I  saw  Mrs.  Ocumpaugh  standing  on  the 
threshold,  pallid  and  stricken,  looking  back  at 
the  picture  made  by  the  other  two  as  Mrs. 
Carew,  fallen  on  her  knees  by  the  bedside, 
held  to  her  breast  the  panting  child. 

^'I  can  not  go  against  nature,''  said  she. 
'^Keep  Gwendolen,  and  may  God  have  pity 
upon  me  and  Philo." 

I  stepped  forward.  Meeting  my  eye,  she 
faltered  this  last  word: 

"Your  advice  was  good.     To-morrow  when 

357 


THE  MIIXIOIS^AIEE  BABY 

I  meet  my  husband  I  will  tell  him  who  found 

the   child   and   whj   that  child   is  not  at   my 

side  to  greet  him.'' 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

That  night  I  had  a  vision.  I  saw  a  door — 
shut,  ominous.  Before  that  door  stood  a 
woman,  tall,  pale,  beautiful.  She  was  there 
to  enter,  but  to  what  no  mortal  living  could 
say.  She  saw  nothing  but  loss  and  the  hol- 
lowness  of  a  living  death  behind  that  closed 
door. 

But  who  knows  ?  Angels  spring  up  imknown 
on  the  darkest  road,  and  perhaps — 

Here  the  vision  broke;  the  day  and  iH  possi- 
bilities lay  before  me. 


THE  SND 


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